Aquaria has all the practiced ease of a parent, the chestnut realizes, watching the way she calms the waves. More than calms - she creates a window for them to peer into and fascinated, her colts take the opportunity. No longer running and bucking in with the whitecaps, they stand still and the Taigan mare releases an appreciative breath.
The sea mare’s skill isn’t missed by Lilliana who by now realizes that the Ischian has surely occupied a child or two of her own by now. (How far away their last meeting seems - that winter day in the Meadow with Aten and Popinjay and the Chamber mare, Straia.)
"Thank you,” Lilli murmurs, well aware that she must look like the overwhelmed mother she so often feels. Her earlier inclination is confirmed and it reveals Lilliana’s sweet smile. "I didn’t,” she says, feeling guilty for not knowing these details about Aquaria’s life. So much time had slipped between them. "Though it shows,” and her head inclines towards the direction of the two colts.
Unable to keep her curiosity at bay, especially when it concerns @[Aquaria], she asks: "But tell me, how did you end up in Loess?” Her mind travels back to that earlier thought as the shadows of worry darken her eyes. Had she been held as a prisoner? Ischia’s loyalty was to Tephra - to the Magician queen Isilya - so why would an Ischian be kept in the red foothills of the South?
An accident, Aquaria says.
"And your boys? How are they coping with being home?” Her eyes drift out towards her own sons, remembering upheaval of her own youth (though that wouldn’t come until much later. She had been a yearling when they started trading homes like the seasons.) Something, she had promised, she would never do with her own children and yet here she is - dragging them about Beqanna as if they were some kind of nomadic band.
Listening as Aquaria speaks, the worry never leaves her eyes and it kindles a different kind of flame that burns behind them.
While she has always known the champagne mare as one who always cuts to the heart of things - a spear of directness in her words that should always be appreciated in politics and friendship - it still catches her off guard. Where the rest of Ischia is all around them in beautiful shades of Eden, Aquaria laughs. There is nothing of Paradise in it - it feels nothing like the sunshine that warms their backs, shimmers their coats.
Where Lilliana had been ready to go - to let herself blur against the lines of this tropical sanctuary and her haze of dreams - the Ischian keeps her grounded to the white sand they stand upon.
Aquaria has the grace to fall on her own sword. Does Lilliana?
"You don’t think he will?” she asks quietly - something she silently chides herself for as foolish. Still, the idealist in her wants it for Aquaria, still hopes it for her, if that's what she wants. All those stories and here she is - still searching for that (thin) silver lining.
If she says she is sorry, would that equate to pity, she wonders? Whatever the sea mare pretends (like her own earlier admission), there are wide cracks in the words - enough to be swallowed by an incoming tide, enough for a tidal pool to be left behind.
"My turn?” she repeats, finally able to look at the finned mare beside her.
Tell me something lovely.
Show me something real.
Pain writes its story in so many ways, on so many faces. It shouldn’t shock Lilliana to find it waiting for her on Aquaria’s. It shouldn't but there it is, eclipsing the sun above them.
"I don’t know,” she admits, realizing that she had been withholding the words. "I just-,” anguish peaking like the crashing waves surrounding them, "don’t know.” She has nothing of Aquaria’s slicing ability, no way to carve the words out other than the barest ones she offers. She simply stares out to where her boys play. "And I should, shouldn’t I?”
Her tongue, her words, remain as mercurial as ever - and the sword?
Beyond reach.
The sea mare’s skill isn’t missed by Lilliana who by now realizes that the Ischian has surely occupied a child or two of her own by now. (How far away their last meeting seems - that winter day in the Meadow with Aten and Popinjay and the Chamber mare, Straia.)
"Thank you,” Lilli murmurs, well aware that she must look like the overwhelmed mother she so often feels. Her earlier inclination is confirmed and it reveals Lilliana’s sweet smile. "I didn’t,” she says, feeling guilty for not knowing these details about Aquaria’s life. So much time had slipped between them. "Though it shows,” and her head inclines towards the direction of the two colts.
Unable to keep her curiosity at bay, especially when it concerns @[Aquaria], she asks: "But tell me, how did you end up in Loess?” Her mind travels back to that earlier thought as the shadows of worry darken her eyes. Had she been held as a prisoner? Ischia’s loyalty was to Tephra - to the Magician queen Isilya - so why would an Ischian be kept in the red foothills of the South?
An accident, Aquaria says.
"And your boys? How are they coping with being home?” Her eyes drift out towards her own sons, remembering upheaval of her own youth (though that wouldn’t come until much later. She had been a yearling when they started trading homes like the seasons.) Something, she had promised, she would never do with her own children and yet here she is - dragging them about Beqanna as if they were some kind of nomadic band.
Listening as Aquaria speaks, the worry never leaves her eyes and it kindles a different kind of flame that burns behind them.
While she has always known the champagne mare as one who always cuts to the heart of things - a spear of directness in her words that should always be appreciated in politics and friendship - it still catches her off guard. Where the rest of Ischia is all around them in beautiful shades of Eden, Aquaria laughs. There is nothing of Paradise in it - it feels nothing like the sunshine that warms their backs, shimmers their coats.
Where Lilliana had been ready to go - to let herself blur against the lines of this tropical sanctuary and her haze of dreams - the Ischian keeps her grounded to the white sand they stand upon.
Aquaria has the grace to fall on her own sword. Does Lilliana?
"You don’t think he will?” she asks quietly - something she silently chides herself for as foolish. Still, the idealist in her wants it for Aquaria, still hopes it for her, if that's what she wants. All those stories and here she is - still searching for that (thin) silver lining.
If she says she is sorry, would that equate to pity, she wonders? Whatever the sea mare pretends (like her own earlier admission), there are wide cracks in the words - enough to be swallowed by an incoming tide, enough for a tidal pool to be left behind.
"My turn?” she repeats, finally able to look at the finned mare beside her.
Tell me something lovely.
Show me something real.
Pain writes its story in so many ways, on so many faces. It shouldn’t shock Lilliana to find it waiting for her on Aquaria’s. It shouldn't but there it is, eclipsing the sun above them.
"I don’t know,” she admits, realizing that she had been withholding the words. "I just-,” anguish peaking like the crashing waves surrounding them, "don’t know.” She has nothing of Aquaria’s slicing ability, no way to carve the words out other than the barest ones she offers. She simply stares out to where her boys play. "And I should, shouldn’t I?”
Her tongue, her words, remain as mercurial as ever - and the sword?
Beyond reach.
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