06-12-2020, 07:21 AM
l e p i s
I never thought it was a question of whether
The midsummer sun has not yet reached its peak, but already the red land around her grows warm with its heat. Lepis stands in the shade of several tall palms, which grow from the damp earth at the southern end of the shallow spring she rests beside. At her feet is curled a sleeping Kestrell, his sides rising and falling steadily. Play this morning had worn him out. Now and then, she touches the glittering mane of her youngest, an action that soothes her more than it does the child.
When she sees the familiar pastel figure moving toward her, Lepis moves toward her. She keeps Kestrell in her sight and stops in the shade of a juniper, its branches heavily intertwined with kudzu and ivy, a handful of geraniums sprouting crooks in the branches. There is a relieved smile on her face as Oceane draws near; she had feared for the safety of the purple mare when she went North despite knowing that Wolfbane was rumored to have abandoned his stronghold there.
The other mare speaks, and when she does Lepis can hear the weariness in her voice. The striped pegasus tells of her conversation with the roan dragon, his demands for children in exchange for peace. That Oceane softens some of the other leader’s demands is something that Lepis suspects but does not address, for much the same reason that Oceane doesn’t speak of them. The purple mare is a model diplomat, Lepis thinks proudly, and is reassured once more that she has made the right choice in entrusting her with Loess when the time comes.
“Can we expect the same, I wonder?” Lepis muses, “Younglings from the Isle to come to Loess?” From Castile’s description, the place had been nearly empty, something that does not seem to have changed since Lepis had made her own visit there years past. Perhaps Leilan means to change that, though Lepis will believe it when she sees it. “If not, it feels rather like paying him in children to not bother us.” Though her tone remains pleasant, there is a thin line to her lips that shows her distaste for that particular type of bargain.
“But if we can, I suppose that is agreeable enough.” It is far from the agreement that she hopes to make with Tephra, but it is something. The more stability they have in the realm of politics, the more focus she can give the other things that Oceane mentions. Things like the location of their lost dragon, among others, and why it is that he has been gone so long. Lepis had been certain he would return by summer, well-accustomed to his mood swings and draconic displays of temper, yet he has not.
She glances toward the sleeping child, with his smoky piebald coat and drafty build, and then away again. Though she has told Oceane of the assault carried out by her disguised former spouse, she had not included the details about the shape he had taken during it. Who had had been seems rather clear now, with the boy’s strong resemblance to the Dragon King of Loess. Well, that or Lepis had also chosen to dally with Castile, a possibility that is so far from plausible that she has never even felt the need to address it.
“I’ve named him Kestrell,” she tells the other mare. “And if I am not here to make the decision for him, I’d rather he not go to Icicle Isle. I’d like him to stay here, with you, if you would accept that burden.” It is a large thing to ask, she knows, the responsibility of a child, and there are few she would trust it to. Oceane is one, and Noah, and even still Castile if the man would ever swallow his pride and return. But Oceane most of all.
@[Oceane]
When she sees the familiar pastel figure moving toward her, Lepis moves toward her. She keeps Kestrell in her sight and stops in the shade of a juniper, its branches heavily intertwined with kudzu and ivy, a handful of geraniums sprouting crooks in the branches. There is a relieved smile on her face as Oceane draws near; she had feared for the safety of the purple mare when she went North despite knowing that Wolfbane was rumored to have abandoned his stronghold there.
The other mare speaks, and when she does Lepis can hear the weariness in her voice. The striped pegasus tells of her conversation with the roan dragon, his demands for children in exchange for peace. That Oceane softens some of the other leader’s demands is something that Lepis suspects but does not address, for much the same reason that Oceane doesn’t speak of them. The purple mare is a model diplomat, Lepis thinks proudly, and is reassured once more that she has made the right choice in entrusting her with Loess when the time comes.
“Can we expect the same, I wonder?” Lepis muses, “Younglings from the Isle to come to Loess?” From Castile’s description, the place had been nearly empty, something that does not seem to have changed since Lepis had made her own visit there years past. Perhaps Leilan means to change that, though Lepis will believe it when she sees it. “If not, it feels rather like paying him in children to not bother us.” Though her tone remains pleasant, there is a thin line to her lips that shows her distaste for that particular type of bargain.
“But if we can, I suppose that is agreeable enough.” It is far from the agreement that she hopes to make with Tephra, but it is something. The more stability they have in the realm of politics, the more focus she can give the other things that Oceane mentions. Things like the location of their lost dragon, among others, and why it is that he has been gone so long. Lepis had been certain he would return by summer, well-accustomed to his mood swings and draconic displays of temper, yet he has not.
She glances toward the sleeping child, with his smoky piebald coat and drafty build, and then away again. Though she has told Oceane of the assault carried out by her disguised former spouse, she had not included the details about the shape he had taken during it. Who had had been seems rather clear now, with the boy’s strong resemblance to the Dragon King of Loess. Well, that or Lepis had also chosen to dally with Castile, a possibility that is so far from plausible that she has never even felt the need to address it.
“I’ve named him Kestrell,” she tells the other mare. “And if I am not here to make the decision for him, I’d rather he not go to Icicle Isle. I’d like him to stay here, with you, if you would accept that burden.” It is a large thing to ask, she knows, the responsibility of a child, and there are few she would trust it to. Oceane is one, and Noah, and even still Castile if the man would ever swallow his pride and return. But Oceane most of all.