feel the fury closing in; nayl, any

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails Nayl notices how he bathes himself in the river, rinsing himself of sins and lies. She thinks nothing of it at first, disregarding him as just another aimless wanderer that’s hopping between Nerine and Pangea. The motion had forcefully grabbed her attention, but the distance dividing them subdues the urge to initially investigate. With the lapping of ocean waves down below and the cries of seagulls above, she can almost blot out his presence, but it’s when he lingers that her eyes find him again. He doesn’t leave after having cleansed himself, his attention groping madly at Nerine. Surprisingly, he doesn’t plunge past their invisible border; all the boundaries are still so new and uncertain, she often reminds herself. Another breath, a pause in time, and she still watches him. He is waiting and she finally obliges after a farewell glance to the ocean’s tide for now. It croons to her as it laps at the sand, but she has already turned away and begun toward the border where the stallion lies in wait. When she arrives, her coat thickened slightly by the seasonal change into winter, her attention immediately glides along the curve of his horns then down along the edges of his face to his eyes. Nayl doesn’t yet smile, her expression hardened like the granite that comprises Nerine’s cliffs. She acknowledges him, of course, with a slight dip of her head while drinking in his scent. But it isn’t his smell that triggers a reminder in her thoughts. It’s the cloven hooves and the dark air about him that clutches tightly to a brief memory. ”You’re Pollock’s son,” the assumption is a fairly blind one, knowing only of Pangea’s leader and not of his kin. It doesn’t halt the progression of their conversation, however, as she settles herself easily enough in front of him, secure in her frigidity. ”The name’s Nayl, and who are you?” In honesty, she has been waiting for the other lands to send their envoys to explore, but she would be surprised to hear how late after her own travels that the rest of the world is following in suit. Nayl covet and myrina's creation