she’s got jumper cable lips
she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death

Autumn has begun to wash over Beqanna and with it comes a quiet like nothing Wishbone has ever noticed before. She’s only been through three years of her life thus far, still dangling in the gray area between childhood and adulthood, and in those three years Beqanna has been full of life and swarms of activity. Now though, they fall perfectly quiet. The commonplaces are subdued and hazy, the kingdoms are even sullen as chatter falls to a minimum.

In these quiet moments, however boring as she might find them, Wishbone has been thinking about Nerine. The northern kingdom is hers now, as much as it had been Scorch’s and Hestia’s and Isobell’s, and the mahogany mare is hellbent on making Nerine the best it could ever be. The Leviathans deserve it, but it will not come without hard, passionate work — work that cannot come from herself only.

She finds her council quickly, in the lull between time. While Wishbone could certainly settle herself under a tasteful tree and call her subjects to her like an owner might call a dog, the Khaleesi prefers to search out her Leviathans herself and greet them more personally. When she finds the subject she’s looking for, a smile grows upon her face so silky yet powerful it might’ve come from the waves that thrash themselves upon the granite cliffs. “Breckin.” Her voice is husky and warm. “I certainly hope you have some ideas for our diplomats.”

wishbone

she’s got jumper cable lips
she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death

The ocean is as familiar to her as the sound of her father’s voice. Whether in Tephra or Nerine, whether a southern ocean or a northern one, the waves are always rolling in a rhythmic dance to the song the moon sings. Sometimes Wishbone thinks she can hear that song, high in the sky among the constellations and the empty blackness of the night, and her feet will dance with the waves to the meter of the tides. She isn’t the only one of Beqanna to fall for the depths of the sea or the uniqueness of the shoreline and she certainly won’t be the last.

Wishbone finds her Idrilat looking out from atop a high perch, where the granite cliffs still remain among the hardy beach-grass and rocky shoreline. An autumn breeze rolls across her shoulders and further entangles her dark locks as the Khaleesi comes to a stop beside Breckin. The horizon rests in the far distance, a thin line between endless sea-depths and endless sky-heights. While Wishbone would certainly plunge to the lowest point of the ocean if she were physically capable, she must limit herself to nearly drowning in other ways.

Her eyebrows raise beneath the mass of her forelock (scents of sea-spray and wind-scrubbed skies linger on her skin and in the knots of her hair) when Breckin mentions having no plans. Wishbone doesn’t fault her; she’s only been a Leviathan for a few moments and the Idrilat for even fewer. “There’s no harm in that,” she reassures. Although Beqanna is on the brink of war, the diplomatic aspect of their kingdom is secure within the relationships of the Allies. “A meeting sounds like a great idea. I’d also like to possibly see some beginner-level warrior training… I don’t want our diplomats going out to the hostiles with no experience to protect themselves.” The Leviathans are strong, among other things, and they shouldn’t have weak-willed diplomats who must hide behind the strength of a warrior.

Wishbone’s amber gaze follows Breckin’s down to the sliver of shoreline below. The pair of Nerinians walking along the shore are too vague to make out and thus her eyes turn back toward the horizon. It’s a crisp blue sky, despite the threat of winter hanging over their heads, and a pleased sigh drifts from Wishbone’s mouth. She feels her wild spirit settle under the weight of the crown, as though it were a heavy blanket to still her restless thoughts.

Another smile, as strong and relieving as a cool breeze on a hot summer day, drifts over Wishbone’s mouth at her friend’s — the Khaleesi, at least, considers Breckin a friend — suggestion. There haven’t been very many Leviathans seeking out her presence and daring to get to know the young queen and it brings excitement to her heart that Breckin might. A pang of nostalgia pierces her chest for a bittersweet moment; the Idrilat’s suggestion is exactly the type of thing her father might’ve said in his youthful days before the crown of Tephra.

Nonetheless, Wishbone settles easily into a casual position, her adventurous gaze finding Breckin’s own. “I was born in Tephra and spent my first year there until the foal exchange happened.” Memories of ashen tropics and soothing hot springs cascade through her mind like falling stars but she doesn’t dare grab for them, merely watching as they drift smoothly past. “I’ve always had a thirst for adventure” — it’s something she’s always shared in common with her brother — “and when my father, Warrick, offered the opportunity to me, I didn’t hesitate.” She seems to come back from the realms of her mind, eyes scanning their surroundings.

“I don’t regret one bit of it.”

wishbone

she’s got jumper cable lips
she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death

Growing up with diplomatic parents had both its victories and sacrifices. Often, Wishbone would spend a day traveling out to the common lands of Beqanna with her mother, her long dark legs prancing through fields of grass higher than her slender head. Those days were always fun ones — in spending her restless childhood in Tephra, she quickly discovered every inch of the island and it was blissful to explore new places — and the girl would frequently bounce among newcomers, asking them questions about the world beyond Beqanna. Such thoughts were on her mind perhaps more than they should be and such thoughts continue to linger when Nerine is quiet in activity.

Wishbone’s brows raise curiously to hear that Breckin doesn’t remember anything past the first year of her time spent in Beqanna. She is older than a year — perhaps even older than Wishbone — and to not know what was done in the time between birth and arrival in a new land must be confusing. The mahogany wonders if it is thrilling as well. Breckin could imagine any history for herself rather than confine herself to the reality of what her younger days truly were.

Rather than focusing on a potentially upsetting topic, Wishbone offers her newfound friend a gentle smile. “I’m glad you chose Nerine, Breckin.” The spotted mare has truly made a home for herself among the hardy beach grass and even hardier Leviathans. In spending time with her Overseer father, Wishbone was able to identify the differences between lackadaisical members and hardworking members; Breckin will be a valuable, hardworking Leviathan among Nerine.

Yet their conversation is twisting again and Wishbone has always been one to move easily with the tides. “Honestly, not quite. I’ve been given chances to travel all around Beqanna, both with my family and as Khaleesi, but part of me wishes I could travel more freely.” She’s seen nearly every kingdom in their land, and the ones she hasn’t visited she has at least wandered through. Yet to be able to simply leave her home and explore without abandon for days — perhaps even months — on end is not a luxury she can claim.

“I appreciate that, Breckin. Truly.” Wishbone knows the weight of the crown will grow heavy under her head with time; although she is young and lively now, eventually she will become bone-weary and sunken as responsibilities swarm her. To know that she has friends like Breckin who will stand at her shoulder and help carry the weight brings relief to her heart.

Wishbone matches Breckin’s mischievous smile and the expression highlights the lithe, wild features of her mahogany face. Tendrils of her knotted mane drag against one high cheekbone, shielding the color of an amber eye that shines with feelings of amusement and eagerness. “Just about anything. I’d normally go for a quick swim, but I have a feeling you might not like the way the ocean numbs your legs.” She laughs, the sound of her amusement tangling with the rush of the waves many feet below them. “And what of you? We should do something you enjoy.” Whether her Idrilat takes the sentence as a command rather than a suggestion between friends is up to her, but Wishbone means it out of casual friendship.

wishbone