Soldier keep on marching on; Ilma

[Ilma]

Ilma

One night I will be the moon
hanging over you

One night I will be a star
follow where you are

The Meadow was, for now, her new home - Castile’s visit had started a train of thought of which she had not yet decided where it would end. It had been so easy to hate him, in her position, and yet she could not. She found herself scared, of course, broken even, for how could he call himself her friend after all that he did - and then when she saw him, she had noticed how much pride he had taken in having so much influence, that the mega-kingdom he seemingly was creating was internally peaceful. Well. That was something, she supposed - too bad he’d thought that he best achieved that through warfare, through steals, through the hurt of other leaders - women, like her, who wouldn’t have minded an alliance one bit if he’d only asked. But that was not the way his mind worked.

Now, the ex-queen sought the peace of the Meadow. Not that it was always peaceful, but at least here no one would be backstabbing their way to a leadership position, no-one was scheming behind her back to take her down or waiting for her to be replaced, no-one was better or worse off than any of the rest. It is the only truly neutral place, because in the forest dwell the ones who think the world is made of strong and weak, though they have no interest in leading anyone, just taking what they want for themselves. The riverlands are a border between both places, and relatively quiet.

Thus, the Meadow will be her home until she has decided if she ever wants to mingle with the kingdom dwellers, again.

Thus, undecided yet decided, she grazes here, and only speaks to those who want her to; those who ask her help or guidance. She’s built up a reputation with her precognition to guide her answers, to help those who are in need of a nudge in the right direction to achieve their goals.

And yet it seems she can help everyone else, but herself.

She sends away a filly (yearling truly, but she’s old enough not to distinguish) just when the grey man lands; she watches the way his dark orbs scan the environment with a natural, habitual calm. Similar to hers, in such a way that she wonders about his life, his goals, and the things that obviously have let him down. Her fire-amber eyes meet his coal black ones for a moment, but then she forces herself to focus on her midday meal. If he wanted attention, he would have asked for it, made any sound. He had not, and she certainly wasn’t about to disturb his afternoon if he didn’t want anyone to do so.

But she doesn’t move away. He has the air and grace of a man with the knowledge and wisdom of time and age, and she can’t help but feel he is important in some way, to her - unfortunately, she cannot distinguish if this is her gift, her gut, or her head speaking.

Hurry, the sun is waking
Darling, don't leave me waiting

@[Hurricane]