In the nights and weeks and months to come, she will dream of them.
She will dream of a desert blaze - the sinking feeling of the sand beneath her hooves and the way the ground never felt solid. She will dream of the intense heat on her back, a Sahara sun on her hide that she has never experienced anywhere else (in this world or any other). She will remember the fever that made her ache for thirst, the Oasis that almost made her beg for water. These are things she will dream of with faint remembrance. These are things that might even dull with time.
But is the death she will always remember.
Until the end of her days, there will be no unseeing the way that Craft’s body crumpled beneath the hooves of Garbage, that last fragile murmur of please before there was no sound at all.
Until the end of her days, there will be no unseeing the way that Anatomy had been a black shimmery shadow through the fog and that edge she skirted. There is no unhearing frantic her cry - Aida!
Lilliana isn’t sure how she knows. It isn’t so much Anatomy but her gaze never lingers there long. It goes to Craft who is still as regal and proud as Lilliana remembers but there is something different about her - something about her in this plane of existence - that seems different from the other. It reminds her of her mother when strangers gathered at their borders and Aletta could neither invite them in (never bring strangers to their sanctuary, she remembers) but the Regent was never so callous as to turn those away in need.
She isn’t sure how she knows but some part of her recognizes the conflict on her golden face.
Pteron, thankfully, comes. Lilliana glances behind her and smiles at the Comte, relieved to see him approach. When he comes alongside her, the chestnut settles into her role as a diplomat of the Taiga and nods her head at his greeting, an indication of his position within the Taiga - their leader. She manages to glance sidelong at the pegasus beside her, "They needed a place to stay so I offered respite in the Taiga.”
It’s a half-truth again; but not so far from the ones she usually offers. It’s the same one she offered Tyr. It’s the same one she had helped Aten offer Ruth.
When she glances back to the golden mare and her dark companion, Lilliana listens carefully as they mention the subject of gifts. Protection from intruders. And blessings for the children born. Something tugs at her heartstrings and her expression softens, "Thank you.. Your presence here though,” something fiercer burns in her chest, "is a gift in itself.”
They won’t know what she means. They won’t understand, she realizes as she looks to both mares. And Pteron would understand even less.
They don’t know, she thinks. And she decides then that in itself is a gift. They have been given their rebirth. They have been given the chance to rewrite their own endings. Not all are so fortunate and she will not squander it for them.
And then she smiles, "How do you feel about the sea?”
LILLIANA
light me up, i will blaze
like a soul you have saved
@[anatomy]