the firestarters always get the burns
and the good guys never get the girl
The longer she stays by the water, the more she realizes that this winter night is not so cold as the ones before, or just not as cold as those in Hyaline. Spring is on it’s way. It leads her mind to last spring, the anxiety that had accompanied Llowell’s pending arrival, only countered by the palomino stallion’s unfaltering confidence in her. She smiles a little, but it wavers when she thinks of telling him -eventually- what had occurred today. With another sigh, she starts pacing back and forth again.
Turning around, she faces the riverbend where another mare has appeared in the meantime. She halts again, then approaches the other mare. A cremello, like Ilma herself was in her first two years before she’d started to white out even further, resulting in her moonlight colour she is today. Winged - like she once was, too, the only difference the copper points. At this time of the night Ilma’s own wings are fading into nothingness, clear almost as they are. They’ll be back and fully lit come sunrise, but she cannot fly at night any more. Something she did often last year, finding a peace and quiet in the moonlit sky back then. But perhaps she will not need that any more. Besides, she can walk, although it means that she meets more horses apparently.
”Hello.” she offers, from far enough away that the salty tang of the Nerinian rocks and even Svedka’s own masculine scent have not registered. She smiles - a diplomat once more, unlike not too long before. She closes the distance, then the smell hits familiarity, and she nods, ”Ah, you’re from Nerine! How does the kingdom fare under the new queen?”
It’s only then that she shakes her head with a laugh. ”Sorry, I’m jumbling up the order of this conversation. I’m Ilma, ambassador of Hyaline, though I can’t say if I’m worthy of the title today...” her voice trails, and she realizes she is talking too much again, very unlike her. Perhaps it’s the need to get the story out. But that’s no excuse. ”No matter. I shouldn’t tire a pregnant woman with my personal troubles.” she gives her new companion with an apologetic look. She smells vaguely of Svedka, she registers - well, she guesses she never laid a claim to him and shouldn’t start now either. Though she wonders if he is the father. As far as she knows, it would be his first, and he would be mighty proud of that baby if it was the case. But he hadn’t told Ilma anything about a baby, and well, she hadn’t exactly determined if she was actually in love with the man and if he was intersted in her that way either - all in all she felt she had no right to bring up the possibility of him being the father. If she had the right to lay any sort of claim on him anyway - he was always a wanderer, so of course he would have multiple women or love interests running around Beqanna. That’s just part of who he is. So perhaps - perhaps she should try and find them all and bring them home to Hyaline. Prevent possible siblings from having to live without a home.
Oh, now her thoughts are rambling even worse than her tongue. Good thing the other woman can’t read minds. Can she? Perhaps she reads faces, which in this case, might be just as bad.
She shouldn’t assume anything beforehand, after all. Rather she would let the conversation flow where it should, and see who this mare was and what she was like. Quite possibly this child was another’s entirely and she’d just recently met the palomino overo by chance. Or maybe she did not like Ilma at all. Also a possibiliy.
With that, she tries to still her mind and focus on the cremello-and-feathered mare. Her own wings dissipated as the last ray of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, she was just a white Andalusian, as she always was.
So, that had like, no break at all. lol
@[Nymf]