The skinwalker gives Lilliana a message that she swallows down with despair.
He isn’t completely wrong. There is nothing on her lean frame - save for a few scars from her spar with the Lady of Loess, save for a few jagged markings from her time on the Mountain - that marks her a fighter. Her voice is kin to a late summer breeze - warm, soft, gentle. There is nothing in it made for terror; nothing in it that ever indicates she has known it.
But she can run.
If Lilliana had spent all her mortal days in Beqanna growing ancient and old, if her skin finally gave way to lines and her bones finally became brittle and wearied, she could still run. The chestnut mare is a daughter of the Wind - the gales and gusts still race through her bloodline, in her veins. Even if she remained traitless and as she often thought - ordinary - Lilliana knew herself to be swift and fleet-footed. She could outrun Wolfbane.
If she was alone, it would have been a certainty she would have hastily taken.
The Taigan mare isn’t alone though. There is a son at her side and another that clamors for his father’s attention, basking in it like sunshine. The striped stallion is smiling down at him without his earlier malice. Wolfbane is adept at cutting her again and again, putting her between all those sharp edges she has always tried to smooth out. If this is intentional, it's just another sign of the shapeshifter’s (mad) genius.
It’s a glimpse of a life she might have known in another time, in another place. If she had chosen differently. It makes her heartsore in a thousand different ways; an acute and clear ache of all the mistakes she has made.
And then, he is gone.
Lilliana can see the bewilderment on Nashua’s face and she can sense Yanhua come closer, seemingly intrigued by the now empty space as his brother was. The copper mare only feels a sense of thunderous dread. He can’t be gone. Not so easily. Not so simply. Wolfbane had already admitted he was done being patient. Whatever security this cloister of Redwood might have offered them no longer does. It is no longer a sanctuary.
Nothing happens.
Nothing reveals itself.
Only the eerie sense of being watched remains in the space that he once occupied. Invisible eyes haunting the hazy light.
('What kind of monster would I be if I was uncomfortable with daylight?’)
(Stop, she begs her unraveling emotions with a fear that flickers through her.)
He reimagines himself a foal and so he becomes reborn. The gold, the iridescent blue, it's all there in the form of a much younger @[Wolfbane]. One not much older (or bigger) than her boys. Nashua, her eldest, her bold boy who has never met a stranger is thoroughly enthused with this one - his father. His pale face lit up, clearly delighted with the change.
Nashua looks back to her, throws her a lopsided smile that becomes dented by the one behind him. "Please, Mama?” her flaxen sons asks. "Please, can he stay?” It’s a guilty glimpse of his brother that makes him reconsider something, "Yan can’t fly, though. But maybe later?” Her boy is beaming, already recalling the full span of those proud and majestic white wings. His attention is already back on his father, already dreaming of all the things he could learn. "You could teach me?"
It’s the mention of hide-and-seek that turns her blood cold. It freezes in the depth of summer, chills despite being in the heart of their home.
The only way she can keep it flowing is by reaching down for Yanhua (who thankfully) remains solid to her touch. She ruffles his mane lovingly, comforting him as much as herself.
It’s not such a hard thing to look up with those eyes (or so she tells herself). Perhaps she might have been a priestess in another life with luminous eyes that look as radiant and reverent as hers do. Eyes like that are made for worship. They rest adoringly on her eldest when she raises her head before regarding the golden colt, as if the idea she considers is nothing but a pleasant one. Lilliana smiles, "Perhaps we could show Daddy how we play hide-and-seek in the fog?”
He isn’t completely wrong. There is nothing on her lean frame - save for a few scars from her spar with the Lady of Loess, save for a few jagged markings from her time on the Mountain - that marks her a fighter. Her voice is kin to a late summer breeze - warm, soft, gentle. There is nothing in it made for terror; nothing in it that ever indicates she has known it.
But she can run.
If Lilliana had spent all her mortal days in Beqanna growing ancient and old, if her skin finally gave way to lines and her bones finally became brittle and wearied, she could still run. The chestnut mare is a daughter of the Wind - the gales and gusts still race through her bloodline, in her veins. Even if she remained traitless and as she often thought - ordinary - Lilliana knew herself to be swift and fleet-footed. She could outrun Wolfbane.
If she was alone, it would have been a certainty she would have hastily taken.
The Taigan mare isn’t alone though. There is a son at her side and another that clamors for his father’s attention, basking in it like sunshine. The striped stallion is smiling down at him without his earlier malice. Wolfbane is adept at cutting her again and again, putting her between all those sharp edges she has always tried to smooth out. If this is intentional, it's just another sign of the shapeshifter’s (mad) genius.
It’s a glimpse of a life she might have known in another time, in another place. If she had chosen differently. It makes her heartsore in a thousand different ways; an acute and clear ache of all the mistakes she has made.
And then, he is gone.
Lilliana can see the bewilderment on Nashua’s face and she can sense Yanhua come closer, seemingly intrigued by the now empty space as his brother was. The copper mare only feels a sense of thunderous dread. He can’t be gone. Not so easily. Not so simply. Wolfbane had already admitted he was done being patient. Whatever security this cloister of Redwood might have offered them no longer does. It is no longer a sanctuary.
Nothing happens.
Nothing reveals itself.
Only the eerie sense of being watched remains in the space that he once occupied. Invisible eyes haunting the hazy light.
('What kind of monster would I be if I was uncomfortable with daylight?’)
(Stop, she begs her unraveling emotions with a fear that flickers through her.)
He reimagines himself a foal and so he becomes reborn. The gold, the iridescent blue, it's all there in the form of a much younger @[Wolfbane]. One not much older (or bigger) than her boys. Nashua, her eldest, her bold boy who has never met a stranger is thoroughly enthused with this one - his father. His pale face lit up, clearly delighted with the change.
Nashua looks back to her, throws her a lopsided smile that becomes dented by the one behind him. "Please, Mama?” her flaxen sons asks. "Please, can he stay?” It’s a guilty glimpse of his brother that makes him reconsider something, "Yan can’t fly, though. But maybe later?” Her boy is beaming, already recalling the full span of those proud and majestic white wings. His attention is already back on his father, already dreaming of all the things he could learn. "You could teach me?"
It’s the mention of hide-and-seek that turns her blood cold. It freezes in the depth of summer, chills despite being in the heart of their home.
The only way she can keep it flowing is by reaching down for Yanhua (who thankfully) remains solid to her touch. She ruffles his mane lovingly, comforting him as much as herself.
It’s not such a hard thing to look up with those eyes (or so she tells herself). Perhaps she might have been a priestess in another life with luminous eyes that look as radiant and reverent as hers do. Eyes like that are made for worship. They rest adoringly on her eldest when she raises her head before regarding the golden colt, as if the idea she considers is nothing but a pleasant one. Lilliana smiles, "Perhaps we could show Daddy how we play hide-and-seek in the fog?”
LILLIANA
all that i'm after is a life full of laughter
(as long as i'm laughing with you)
but it's all in the past, love
it's all gone with the wind