“what do you fear, lady?' he asked. 'a cage,' she said.”; any

[Ygritte]

BETTER BEWARE, I GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT
DEVIL-MAY-CARE WITH A LUST FOR LIFE

The eternal darkness chokes the vibrancy from Beqanna and it hurts her one good eye. This world has changed yet again in the wake of her absence. She has no one to blame but the puppeteers that’s pluck at her strings, moving her legs with jerking stokes, calluses hands should know better than play God amongst the mortals but still the foolish play with themselves and each other rather than use their lips to pray for their saturated souls.

Her skin has darkened to reflect a moonless sky. The snarls and rake of unseen claws echo through her skin and bounce around the smooth curve of her head. For the first in long, fear vibrates her bones. Ygritte knows no familiar faces despite the length of her stay in Beqanna. The world has rebuked their idleness and punished them for their greed once more...monsters lurk in the shadows just beyond the limit of her eye. With dark wings clutched to her sides securely, she heads to the meadow in hopes of some light.

We’re they cursed? Was she a fool to think she could return without her own dish of vengefulness? Her folly of pursing Kreios has all but consumed her but she is back now. A nameless face in the humming voices. She does not call out for attention of the wicked was just within earshot but instead she notices another close to her, nearly bumping into them. ”Hello...sorry about that.” A voice rich with age, womanly and harmonic (shocking her slightly) is offered between parted lips. She is desperate for conversation but must maintain her composure.

Something snags her tail and she jumps slightly, whipping her head and throwing a hoof more out of surprise than retort. This place was dangerous and she can only hope the other would not mind some company. Ygritte trembles despite her effort to calm her nerves. Her gift of eternal beauty and shivering betrays her age and she feels girlish and giddy. ’Get it together, woman.’ She chastised herself silently.

Ygritte.

Ugh it’s choppy and I’m sorry whoever has the mercy to write with me.

[Nashua]

(and it's harder than you think)
telling dreams from one another

He really should know better.

His left-wing hasn't even fully healed but here he is, soaring through (another) Beqanna night. It was meant to be a quick flight, a trip to Nerine to warm himself by Popinjay's bonfires and visit with the lightning-bird Khaleesi. But then the wind rolling off the sea had turned foul and though he couldn't see the storm coming, Nashua has flown along the Northern coast enough to know when the weather was turning.

(And some part of him really can't help himself. Even as the Hersir of the Isle, even as a father of two and another on the way, even with that ugly scar running jagged from his still-healing wing towards his copper chest, Nash dares to race the coming gale.)

The pegasus stays ahead of it. Even as the breeze forces him in a new direction, Nash stays ahead of the stormwinds and feels a surge of victory that lifts his spirits. The ordeal has forced him to the south and his green eyes catch glimpses of the shadowy hills of Loess below him. The mountains of Hyaline loom towards the east and the landscape shifts again to what the Northerner knows is the Meadow, the winged stallion attempts a landing.

It isn't his most graceful endeavor. By the time that any horse will hear the crunch of snow or the audible thud of Nashua's hooves greeting the frozen ground, he is already settling his broad wings against his sides and glancing around for any sign of life. While the striped stallion is looking, a nearby horse nearly bumps into him. Turning his blazed head to the side where he catches the shape of another horse and the scent of flowers (it almost overwhelms him; it's been nearly a year since flowers have grown in Beqanna). "The apology is mine," Nashua tells her. "I should have been paying more attention."

A lopsided grin quirks at the edge of his mouth. She seems nervous and so Nash stays where he stands, allowing the flowered mare to approach or move away. "Nashua," he says in a brief introduction and hopes that she might follow with one of her own.

NASHUA

@[Ygritte]