Ophelia noticed from the corner of her eye the way he arched his proud neck to smell her, and she did not blame him for doing so. How could he be sure, in this madness, that this body was actually inhabited by the one he knew by the name 'Ophelia'. Without the gods, there was such chaos, much more than she had ever expected. Where she was born, the gods were much more subtle, quiet and hidden in the corners of the world. What made these gods desire such a close relationship? Were they related? So many questions...
What if the gods had just built this world poorly, so that it could not sustain itself? Either way, the place was beautiful. Even the glorious roll of the Tides could not compare to the cascading kingdom in the north, the auroras brightening the sky on the large, white planes of snow and ice. She had disappeared into those mountains once before, and she still had not learned all of their secrets. Perhaps it was time to once again exile herself between the white spires and cold snow.
Tinek took to the sky, and the loud crash of waves against the side of the rock tumbled into her ears. The dragon was gone, for now, leaving the two alone, except for his rather interesting comments in her head. She found it comforting to know his every though. He had caught a fish and was immensely pleased, and she smiled despite herself.
She nodded, comforted that his were safe and sound in their castle of ice, and she frowned slightly when he asked about her home. Irma landed softly on his back, and she looked over the bird's fluffy, pretty feathers, welcoming the brief distraction. "Roskuld and Mesec are safe," she replied. "I met with a few others, but I did not stay long." Ophelia turned her head down slightly. "I have not spent much time among my own," she admitted guiltily. "My heart weights heavy when I think of my family of Grey, and those thoughts weigh even heavier when I realize that my family should not plague my heart with pain."
A small smile crossed her lips. "With the exception of Roskuld and Mesec. I love both of them more than I thought I was capable," she murmured, looking up at him as he came closer. The bright expression was still lightly painted across her pale features. "Your heart looks heavy, from the outside," she commented, leaning forward to, hopefully, softly press her muzzle against the arch of his neck. Ophelia did not ask questions. She did not pry. Looking into his mind was not an option; he was a close and dear friend (friend?), and she would respect his privacy. For all of her faults, the Forsaken was accepting, willing to listen and not pass judgments. Perhaps, one day, that would be her redemption.
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[P] I'll take whatever is left of your heart
