even a n g e l s fall

It dawns upon me, just like the spires of light that pour through the pines, like fine wine, filling goblets. The thought creeps across my mind, embedding like intuitive worms, that I do not share many companions. There is Straia, the raven Queen. Ever there, ever-watchful through the eyes of her black feathered pets. A monarch, an ear and perhaps, over the years some form of a friend. There is Killdare, oh, there is always Killdare. Be it in slivers of a blessed dream, of the throes of a sordid nightmare. But he, he is there. My Son, my life, my dear Vercingetorix. He is growing into a strapping young boy. One that makes me most proud. There are others. Brief conversation, respectful nods. Erebor. Kavi. Warship. Gryffen. to the newer faces of Michaelis, Kushiel and the older Gods, if you will of Atrox and Set. Ah, but there is something quite different when a girl shares the same hormones. The men just don't get it.

I'd noticed the green girl, she stands out far more in the greys and dark colours of winter's grasp. More so with the blossoming size of her barrel. I watch her through the pines, sapphire eyes twinkling like gemstones in the shadows. I had noticed her then, at the meeting. She pledged herself to the Chamber and for that, she gained something for me. A tweak of a smile touches my lips as I decide then to step out from the confines of the wood. Flinty hooves breaking a low cadence against the frostbitten ground.

'Astri, isn't it?' I remember names, the same way I remember faces. They are engraved upon stone in my mind; whether it be foe or ally, love or hate. They are there, forever remembered, forever revered. My ivory plume swishes behind, gracing my golden hocks as I near her. My barrel swings, the throb of life within. Oh, it is another boy, I can tell. He is restless, just like his brother, and impatient just like his father. As I close in upon the viridian mare, my eyes drift over her. She has scars where my skin is flawless. She has burdens that are carried upon shoulders, like soldiers, like warriors. For this, a peak of my proverbial brow is given but no more. She has my respect already for being one of the few girls to pick up arms. I fight with words, for sometimes, the silver tongue is sharper than any hoof.

'Come Spring it looks like the Chamber will be rife with pure blood.' I recall the talk of stealing children, of breaking mares, but there is nothing like blood born and spilled in and for the chamber, by worthy chamberlings themselves. I pull to a halt, on Astri's other side, tilting my head. My long, willowy legs are restless, as ever, and I cannot stand completely still. 'How are you fairing?'

engelsfors