04-26-2019, 06:47 AM
At Lethy’s quietly voiced desire for the magics that Lepis had mentioned, the blue-eyed mare smiles. She nearly tells the younger mare to be careful what she wishes for aloud – the same way she has told her own children. But perhaps Izora Lethis is not as bright a target for the arcane effects of wishing the same way that Lepis and her family are. It’s an aftereffect of life in Beqanna, of blood that is not entirely equine, of genies and tricksters who dabble in mortal lives unasked.
Lepis is thinking of this as Lethy moves closer to the water. Her attention is somewhat distracted, allowing the buckskin mare a moment of quiet to take in the beauty of the lake. Her eyes trace the distant edges of the kingdom, watching the miniscule red border where the bright summer greenery is suddenly autumn gold.
At first, she thinks the discomfort is mental – brought on by the thought of Sylva. That would be unusual, but not impossible. Lepis uses her empathic projection without truly conscious thought, pressing calm into her own mind like she might use a morphine pump. Yet the discomfort remains, a fire in her belly that spreads to each limb, sweat beading impossibly quickly on her brow. She is tired, more tired than she has felt in years, but she is able to keep her eyes open long enough to meet Lethy’s gaze.
“The Plague,” she says around a hacking cough, attempting to turn her head to where she knows the great Mountain stands distant on the horizon.
“It’s growing stronger. We need to find...” her voice trails off and she struggles to catch her breath, exhausted by the dozen words she’s spoken. “To find a healer.”
@[Izora Lethia]
sorry for the delay in response!
Lepis is thinking of this as Lethy moves closer to the water. Her attention is somewhat distracted, allowing the buckskin mare a moment of quiet to take in the beauty of the lake. Her eyes trace the distant edges of the kingdom, watching the miniscule red border where the bright summer greenery is suddenly autumn gold.
At first, she thinks the discomfort is mental – brought on by the thought of Sylva. That would be unusual, but not impossible. Lepis uses her empathic projection without truly conscious thought, pressing calm into her own mind like she might use a morphine pump. Yet the discomfort remains, a fire in her belly that spreads to each limb, sweat beading impossibly quickly on her brow. She is tired, more tired than she has felt in years, but she is able to keep her eyes open long enough to meet Lethy’s gaze.
“The Plague,” she says around a hacking cough, attempting to turn her head to where she knows the great Mountain stands distant on the horizon.
“It’s growing stronger. We need to find...” her voice trails off and she struggles to catch her breath, exhausted by the dozen words she’s spoken. “To find a healer.”
@[Izora Lethia]
sorry for the delay in response!
