01-19-2020, 02:10 PM
"It..." She pauses. Home. "Yes, it is my home."
It's the first time she has actually said the words, and her tongue trips over them like a new foal gaining its legs. But it is her home and she has slowly come to accept that. Her burden, too, perhaps, but her home, first. The wind lives in her mane, the sea mist in her eyes, the cliffs on her face. She, like many of the other kings and queens, seems to embody the nature of her kingdom. She tries to swallow the thought away - Lilliana is rubbing off on her again, leaving poetic tendencies in her breast.
He would have no way of knowing that her home is written so plainly across her body, and there is a relief in that. By now, enough have come to speak with her that others, finding a brown mare with a white, scarred face, might feasibly guess who she is, but he cannot do so, and so she does not tell him. Instead she takes the opportunity to linger in the silence that he lets build between them, the silence of someone used to wandering the miles alone. One ear turns back to follow him, to catch the sound of the change in his step, the way he adjusts to her guiding without a word. She does not push him hard, only enough to make sure that he keeps away from the cliffs when their path takes them close to the edges. Not all of Nerine, however is cliff. There are flat plains, twisting caves, rugged and somewhat uninviting beaches. She takes no such guiding care when the danger is limited only to tripping.
"It is not a gentle place," she adds at last in response to his question, "but it has become part of me." And has she become part of it? No, she snorts softly at the idea. Nerine is Nerine, it is not its history, it is not the horses that have lived, that do live, within its borders. It made them, not the other way around. Perhaps once upon a time lands were nearly entities themselves and rose up in defense of residents, but these lands of what some may call "New" Beqanna, they hold no such sentiments. If these lands have hearts, they are cloistered well away, far from the reaches of those that would seek them.
And better for it, she thinks, remembering that not all of Lilliana's stories are untrue, that Eurwen's history lessons have their roots dipped in fact. This is a place of magic, after all, there is a Heart, somewhere, and it has broken before. It brought the Reckoning, and the Plague, so let Nerine keep its secrets hidden.
"You came from Taiga, but it's not your home. What are you looking for?"
It's the first time she has actually said the words, and her tongue trips over them like a new foal gaining its legs. But it is her home and she has slowly come to accept that. Her burden, too, perhaps, but her home, first. The wind lives in her mane, the sea mist in her eyes, the cliffs on her face. She, like many of the other kings and queens, seems to embody the nature of her kingdom. She tries to swallow the thought away - Lilliana is rubbing off on her again, leaving poetic tendencies in her breast.
He would have no way of knowing that her home is written so plainly across her body, and there is a relief in that. By now, enough have come to speak with her that others, finding a brown mare with a white, scarred face, might feasibly guess who she is, but he cannot do so, and so she does not tell him. Instead she takes the opportunity to linger in the silence that he lets build between them, the silence of someone used to wandering the miles alone. One ear turns back to follow him, to catch the sound of the change in his step, the way he adjusts to her guiding without a word. She does not push him hard, only enough to make sure that he keeps away from the cliffs when their path takes them close to the edges. Not all of Nerine, however is cliff. There are flat plains, twisting caves, rugged and somewhat uninviting beaches. She takes no such guiding care when the danger is limited only to tripping.
"It is not a gentle place," she adds at last in response to his question, "but it has become part of me." And has she become part of it? No, she snorts softly at the idea. Nerine is Nerine, it is not its history, it is not the horses that have lived, that do live, within its borders. It made them, not the other way around. Perhaps once upon a time lands were nearly entities themselves and rose up in defense of residents, but these lands of what some may call "New" Beqanna, they hold no such sentiments. If these lands have hearts, they are cloistered well away, far from the reaches of those that would seek them.
And better for it, she thinks, remembering that not all of Lilliana's stories are untrue, that Eurwen's history lessons have their roots dipped in fact. This is a place of magic, after all, there is a Heart, somewhere, and it has broken before. It brought the Reckoning, and the Plague, so let Nerine keep its secrets hidden.
"You came from Taiga, but it's not your home. What are you looking for?"
Neverwhere
...
@[Tyr] Hi I have no idea what is happening.
