Silence is golden; [Any]

[Reagan]

now don’t you understand…that I’m never changing who I am?

Following her time with Ruan in the meadow, Reagan found she needed a bit of space that might require the solace of the forest. So, turning that direction, she looked once behind her to see if anyone was behind—or following—and when she had the all clear, she disappeared into the trees, retracing her steps to the thicket that had brought her back here in the first place. The scars that Lexa had seen were essentially no more; they had been induced by magic, for effect no less. But the memories of her early days, before the Reckoning, were good ones.
 
Learning to live as a mortal was rough, but she found that she had a new sense of refreshment, and found her faith in God and Mary restored. She remembered the hymns and prayers of her youth, and instead of the focus being upon her powers, she found her focus was on her heart, and as she came back to the quiet place of her confession, her church—her shrine—she found herself saying another prayer that she would always be grateful for whatever she was given, and for however long she had it.
 
This was the focus of her sojourn. To remember what exactly on this earth was important. Family, Faith, and Love.
 
Without these things, nothing else matters.

[Talulah]

It should be easier to forget the Dale here.

Deep in the forest, wearing shadows around her like a shawl of mourning, she should be transported from the wide meadows of her homeland. She shouldn’t hear the roar of the spring-fatted river in her ears while the trees sway and creak around her. She shouldn’t anticipate the flight of an eagle overhead, shouldn’t look for the same herd of deer that always appeared at sunset or the one-eared fox that burrowed in the foothills. She should forget that there will never again be the jutting mountains waiting for her eager eyes.

As she journeys deeper into the woods, trying, she does not forget.

Only her family keeps her perched on the precipice, unwilling to fall one way or the other just yet. Their faces remind her that she is not alone (not even in her grief, though it feels like anchors weigh her more than ever before). Without Tiphon, without Ea and her grandchildren, she might have stepped into the smoke of the apocalypse and let it fill her lungs. Because loss, like everything else, comes in threes. Tiberios. The Dale. Ramiel. Deep in the fiber of her being, the metal woman knows her firstborn is gone. Not dead, she vehemently thinks, but gone. The fact that he is not dead does not soothe her. Despite it, she knows that she will never see him again.

The forest sets her teeth on edge but she doesn’t turn back. Somewhere behind her, the sunrise is waking Beqanna from its first restless night. And for the first time, when she could be waking with them (the first night she’s ever needed to sleep in her entire life), she is walking worn paths instead. When she sees another mare alone in the distance, Talulah does not change her pace to either avoid or intersect the other. They do intersect, eventually, and the Dalean acknowledges the shorter mare with a tired smile. “Good morning.” Old habits die hard; it is hardly a good morning. She wonders about loss, wonders if this one is sharing in the cavernous grief that has swallowed her.
 

t a l u l a h

metal woman once of the dale