On behalf of myself || DIPLOMAT, Any

[Philomena]

I live as vivaciously as the next girl. My day to day hadn't differed in my year of living, and the universe had given me no reason to think it would change in the next. I am small and robed elegantly in blankets of silver and white, warm browns covering what was left. The monotone is broken only by shinning sapphire eyes that could be read easily if one looked into the depths long enough. The foundations laid by my youth promised great beauty later in life, backed only by a heart filled with pride and a lust for life.

These musings come to me as I journey to my next abode. The kingdom I sought was one of fire and ash, built upon the backs of those who dare not shy away from hard work. Tephra had ultimately become my home for the next year as decided upon by not only I, but my queen , Hestia, and my mother ,Scorch. So to the island I traveled, breaking seldom and asking for directions often. How embarrassing! I would certainly have to learn my way around Beqanna if I was to become a successful diplomat. I pushed the thought aside , greater things were at hand.

I had arrived.

The air was much thicker here than in Nerine. Though it smelled the same (of sea and salty winds) there was a fine coating of ash laid across it like a blanket. Though judging from the temperature it didnt seem like anyone would need a blanket anytime soon... It was sweltering, a fact I would certainly need to grow used to over the year. Unbeknownst to me the seasons here never changed, what a surprise I was in for. A side of my lips kicked up and I move forward once more, seeking out a diplomat (or a kind face) to state my arrival too. Best to be punctual I might say. Timing was in the making of a great woman.

[wound]

A piece of her leaves when Wishbone does. It’s difficult for Wound to see her firstborn swim to the mainland for the last time in who knows how long. She can’t deny there’s a tendril of relief that swirls in those salty waters with her daughter though, finding that she will no longer have to chase Wishbone through the forests and pull her down from trees and push her away from drowning with the whales. But the largest pieces of Wound are achy and empty. So she mopes. For a few dreadful days she is too depressed to even bother with eating or sleeping, spending most of her time in the heated pools nestled under the stern face of the volcano. While the days simmer around her, she simmers inside the pond until her skin is burning and her head is swimming. She only gets out of the water when she’s on the brink of passing out. But eventually she pulls herself away from the fog, forcing herself to clear her mind. After venturing past Tephra’s borders for a day, Wound returns with the intention of leaping back into her work and filling the hole Wishbone left with her loyalty to Tephra (and Warrick). It isn’t long into the day of her return that a slender voice drags itself through the brine-and-ash air. The girl smells of Nerine (cliff-sides and windswept air and angry waves). With her approximate age, it doesn’t take Wound long to guess why she might be on Tephra’s borders. Wound approaches easily, her silvery body relaxed and casual. There’s a smooth smile finding her lips already as she limps forward, eventually coming to a halt within a respectful distance. She doesn’t want to crowd the girl while she gets her bearings. Wound’s eyes flutter over the yearling’s body for a moment, analyzing her frame. She doesn’t seem built for warriorhood, but that could be her immaturity in growth. Still, Tephra’s diplomatic climate is equally as worthy of investment — though Wound could be partial. “Welcome to Tephra. My name is Wound. Are you the one Nerine has chosen?”

credit to nat of adoxography.

@[Philomena] @[Warrick]

[Warrick]

we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight

Wishbone’s departure was a difficult one, but Warrick knows he could not have kept his child here even if he wanted to. She would do well in Nerinee (more than well, he reminds himself) and perhaps at the end of the year she will return to them. It is a silly thought to think, but he would not be disappointed if she chose to come back home, as all fathers wish. Even now, there are some nights when he wishes Solace was just within his grasp, beneath the lava-filled rock and the hazy smoke. But he knows this is not the way life works, and with his previous knowledge of his firstborns, he knew that Wishbone would be okay.

The bay King is not surprised when Wound, however, distances herself. She has spent the last few days in a trance, mulling through her thoughts and sifting through her emotions. He had kept an eye on her (he is sure she knows, with his large wings pulling him through the sky, looking down upon his world and his close ones with the eye of an osprey), but allowed her the space she needed to adjust to such a different setting that Tephra would be now.

Warrick is almost too worried about Wound, about Wishbone, that he forgets that soon another will be arriving - a fair trade, an alliance agreement that he and Hestia had formed. His large wings - a deep and brilliant cobalt - keep the Overseer high in the thermals above Tephra, but just below the clouded smoke that continually floats from the volcano’s top. He had already made a swift perimeter of Tephra, and is quickly coming inland again to check the borders one more time before retiring to the darkened shoreline, where he spends most of his days. With his power of flight, it has become his job to continually sweep the borders, with Longclaw’s disappearance and his ability to get there quickly.

It is then he spies them - both Wound and the younger female - and his mind quickly remembers what he had been forgetting. With a sort of seriousness shifting across his face, he twitches the delicate length of his feathers to turn his entire body, pivoting and spiraling in the humid and thick air to lower himself towards the golden grasses of the inland. With the steady pump of his wings, he hovers a few strides away from the duo before letting his hooves meet the warm earth, landing with the smell of sky and sun and smoke, fluttering his feathers before curving them into his auburn sides.
He casually comes up beside Wound, his bright blue gaze meeting hers first with a knowing and understanding glance. The blue of his feathers rest gently against the silver of her side before he halts, turning his face towards the young woman before him.

“I am Warrick,” he says to the Nerinian girl, a tiny nod of his head to punctuate his welcome. “How were your travels?” Nerine is the farthest country from Tephra, Warrick knows, and he wonders if Wishbone has made it there safely, just as this one has.

Warrick

@[Philomena] @[wound]