they want rain without thunder and lightning


Ever since the lightning child's father was claimed by his own mortality things have been much different in her desert home. Most drastic is the general aloofness of her elder sister. The young mare is unused to being so detached from the older filly. She finds it difficult to amuse herself, what with the general absence of the most prominent role-model, play mate and companion in her life.

Azulee wasn't nearly as close to her father as Cirrus, and because of this the lightning child feels deep remorse for not being able to bond with him as her sister had. Both her mother and Cirrus are inconsolably mournful for his passing, and Azulee feels only regret that her sorrow does not match their own. It eats at her, and the majority of the time Azulee sits in solitude and pretends she is talking to the great, ardent warrior she grew to know so haphazardly. She is no longer sure if the memories she has of him are actually her own, or simply stories she has been told by her mother and sister. She isn't sure if she actually remembers journeying to meet her father as he returned from battle for what her sister called 'the World's Edge' or if she has been told of it so many times that it might as well be an actual memory.

Does she truly remember playing tag with him on cool mornings as the dulcet light of dawn gradually crept into the sky? Does she truly remember laying awake at night peering up at the stars, listening to his stories of her grandmother? Yes. Those things are certain, but some of it is a bit of a blur.

She can still hear his goading voice if she thinks hard enough - deep and masculine, yet still so comforting. She wishes she could hear it now as she sits with her legs curled beneath her at the shore of their great Oasis lake, recalling frolicking with her family in the cool waters when the heat of the sun grew too intense. These are her most recent memories of the General, one of the few she has and cherishes whole-heartedly.

Admittedly she is jealous that her sister was given his feathers while she has none to remember him by. She wishes she could tell curious observers who gaze upon the feathers and ask of their origin of the noble man whose blood courses through her veins and carry them in her mane as vain women carry pearls and elegant jewelry. His spear is another story. Surely Cirrus deserves it more than she. She was far closer to him than the lightning child ever was. Yet again she feels remorse for this, and a flaccid sigh leaks past her lips.

She rises and walks along the shore of the lake, watching her hooves as they clap lightly against the russet stone. She kicks the stray pebbles as they appear before her, the wind gently cooing in her ears.

[ for Vesta. <3 (yay for recycled posts xP) ]