Pond
Change seems to be the only constant thing in Pond’s life (which is somewhat ironic given the conflict between the two words). New experiences were delivered to her in abundance, whether she sought them or they sought her. In her early youth, her adventurous nature had led her to many strange places and odd encounters; now, it seems that the world will move on whether she follows it or falls behind.
Perhaps she should have known this already after waking into strange surroundings long after the events of The Reckoning. She had been so lost and frightened, but Belgaer had taken pity on her only to deliver the heart-wrenching news that everything she had known of her homeland from before had been obliterated. It had been a difficult adjustment, but his invitation to live in Ischia among the Brotherhood that harkened back to a time she knew had intrigued her.
Her short time there had been agreeable, even though she never felt quite at home among the tropical jungle islands. Once more, her wandering spirit had taken hold and wandered alone for some time. She now regrets this, since another shift had occurred during her general isolation. The kingdoms had changed their format once again and her former home is now a subsidiary of a small conglomerate and Brennen and Belgaer no longer lived there. At least, that was what she could only presume since she hasn’t overheard his name in conversations concerning Ischia - only someone named Isobell and her champion Ivar. (Little does she know, Ivar is her very own great-nephew.)
She hadn’t been present when Brennen had stepped down and invited the Brotherhood to move to Nerine with him and so once more, she finds herself homeless.
It is not quite as painful as before, losing her home, but there is a chalky, dusty sort of hollow feeling in the shallows of her heart that she cannot shake nonetheless. It seems difficult for her to hold on to anything anymore, each memory a mere flickering cloud in a vast sky with no connections at all.
She is wandering along the coast in the southwest, one ear trained on the foggy sound of the ocean waves nearby and the other swiveling forward and sideways in a lazy pattern, intent to take stock of her surroundings as much as possible. Her silvery-gray eyes catch the moonlight and focus much more clearly than her hearing can, so for the most part she is confident enough to walk alone when the night falls. Typically, in the quieter parts of Beqanna, she tended to avoid traveling once the sun had set; at least in the daylight she can see shadows and need not fear relying on her damaged hearing. Tonight she makes an exception to the rule.
And perhaps this change in her routine will become a fortuitous one. Up ahead is the unmistakable figure of a horse bedded down on the shoreline, silhouetted amidst the milky glow of the waxing gibbous moon that rises gradually overhead. At first, Pond considers whether or not to give the stranger a berth and leave them to their rest, but as the filly draws closer she is taken by the vivid red coat the mare wears. It reminds her of her mother, and even of her elder brother, for they had both had similarly vibrant red bodies.
With that, she gives in to the impulse to approach the resting mare, though she walks with light and careful steps, head held low so as not to seem intimidating (as if anyone could see the small, slight girl as any sort of threat). The shadowy wings upon her back seem to glimmer slightly in the moonlight when she shifts them to hug closer to her sides; they are nearly transparent in the darkness, dim and wispy more like smoke than any sort of shade.
“Pardon me,” she speaks in a voice that is soft like flowers, if a little timid. “Would you mind if I join you?” It seems such an abrupt proposition that she feels a by embarrassed asking it so, as justification, she adds: “It’s such a lovely evening,” she lifts her nose toward the glimmering sea to indicate her meaning, “it seems a bit of a shame to spend it alone.”
Perhaps she should have known this already after waking into strange surroundings long after the events of The Reckoning. She had been so lost and frightened, but Belgaer had taken pity on her only to deliver the heart-wrenching news that everything she had known of her homeland from before had been obliterated. It had been a difficult adjustment, but his invitation to live in Ischia among the Brotherhood that harkened back to a time she knew had intrigued her.
Her short time there had been agreeable, even though she never felt quite at home among the tropical jungle islands. Once more, her wandering spirit had taken hold and wandered alone for some time. She now regrets this, since another shift had occurred during her general isolation. The kingdoms had changed their format once again and her former home is now a subsidiary of a small conglomerate and Brennen and Belgaer no longer lived there. At least, that was what she could only presume since she hasn’t overheard his name in conversations concerning Ischia - only someone named Isobell and her champion Ivar. (Little does she know, Ivar is her very own great-nephew.)
She hadn’t been present when Brennen had stepped down and invited the Brotherhood to move to Nerine with him and so once more, she finds herself homeless.
It is not quite as painful as before, losing her home, but there is a chalky, dusty sort of hollow feeling in the shallows of her heart that she cannot shake nonetheless. It seems difficult for her to hold on to anything anymore, each memory a mere flickering cloud in a vast sky with no connections at all.
She is wandering along the coast in the southwest, one ear trained on the foggy sound of the ocean waves nearby and the other swiveling forward and sideways in a lazy pattern, intent to take stock of her surroundings as much as possible. Her silvery-gray eyes catch the moonlight and focus much more clearly than her hearing can, so for the most part she is confident enough to walk alone when the night falls. Typically, in the quieter parts of Beqanna, she tended to avoid traveling once the sun had set; at least in the daylight she can see shadows and need not fear relying on her damaged hearing. Tonight she makes an exception to the rule.
And perhaps this change in her routine will become a fortuitous one. Up ahead is the unmistakable figure of a horse bedded down on the shoreline, silhouetted amidst the milky glow of the waxing gibbous moon that rises gradually overhead. At first, Pond considers whether or not to give the stranger a berth and leave them to their rest, but as the filly draws closer she is taken by the vivid red coat the mare wears. It reminds her of her mother, and even of her elder brother, for they had both had similarly vibrant red bodies.
With that, she gives in to the impulse to approach the resting mare, though she walks with light and careful steps, head held low so as not to seem intimidating (as if anyone could see the small, slight girl as any sort of threat). The shadowy wings upon her back seem to glimmer slightly in the moonlight when she shifts them to hug closer to her sides; they are nearly transparent in the darkness, dim and wispy more like smoke than any sort of shade.
“Pardon me,” she speaks in a voice that is soft like flowers, if a little timid. “Would you mind if I join you?” It seems such an abrupt proposition that she feels a by embarrassed asking it so, as justification, she adds: “It’s such a lovely evening,” she lifts her nose toward the glimmering sea to indicate her meaning, “it seems a bit of a shame to spend it alone.”
@[Jah-Lilah] @[Drea] ...such rambling e.e