They see it as a sanctuary, but Nayl sees it as an opportunity. Her reach is spreading, her shadow being cast across more than just Nerine. When Brennen proposed the idea, she briefly mulled it over and tried to envision what could be. It was enticing; he quickly seized her attention. As he fed her the information, she savored every drop, every morsel, until she was truly able to grasp the concept with their names already memorized. ”Iset and Amet,” she murmurs now to herself as she scales another hill, her muscles rippling underneath her coat. Castile, whom she almost forgot was with her, peers up with a silver eye darkening with confusion. A feeble grin quivers at the corner of her mouth as she simply mutters, ”You’ll see.” Her answer suffices for now as he placidly follows in suit. With this being the first time he has ventured from Nerine, he can’t entirely contain his excitement. His steps quicken and his wandering gaze brightens after every knoll they crest and after ever ravine they cross. This is all new for him, an adventure.
His wings shuffle at his sides as they gingerly cross the shallows of stream. It’s here that Nayl tells him to ease back and to settle alongside her again.
In Sylva, she easily bypasses the invisible borders, seeing it as a secondary home. It is her first subkingdom clutched tightly by two of her own. This Lake, however, is entirely new and unexplored. It’s in the palms of children she doesn’t know, but backed by a stallion she is increasingly learning trust. His scent, Brennen’s, blows across her with a brisk, autumn gale. The others, however, are entirely foreign. Castile, eager to meet the others, stands vigilant at his mother’s side. While she stands in silence to scrutinize the hills, mountains, and lake, the boy lets loose a call. His voice is immature and betrays his undoubtable youth. His tail, black and bottle-length, wags from side to side. ”When will they get here, mother?” Nayl glances down to her son and risks a gentle smile that only he can see. ”Soon,” his childish ignorance and jubilance almost hurts her. He hasn’t yet grown into himself or seen what lies outside of Nerine; he is oblivious.
A reassuring touch finds his poll, but then Nayl withdraws and returns her fiery eyes to the land unraveling in front of her. It rises from a morning fog, the grass glistening with morning dew. While Castile sees magnificence and fun, Nayl still only sees opportunities and power.
|
