Each day, Olena feels like she’s stronger than the day before.
At least, that’s what she tells her Oberyn. It’s what she tells her mothers and her other siblings. Better than yesterday, she tells them gently (for she knows nothing else but that; gentleness and frailty, stumbling feet and an aching chest) with a sparkle in those deep, cerulean eyes. The mantra sings faintly in her own mind, commanding her to rise each morning and to mull her way around Tephra; otherwise, she thinks, she would have died long ago - succumbed to the rattle in her breast and the atrophying of her muscles.
Fortunately, despite her ailments, the young girl had begun to grow. She is taller and more refined but oh so thin; slender dark legs carry the sleekness of her rich gold and white body. It is hard to remember to eat when it is difficult to even remember to breathe. But she is fortunate to have those that watch over, care for her, ensure her wellbeing. Olena knows nothing but love amidst her circumstance, fortunately.
The deep black of her feathered wings is neatly tucked into the gold and white of her sides. They rustle briefly with the sea wind’s playfulness, tugging most forcefully at the obsidian and cobalt tassels of her forelock and mane. Those unique leopard print markings of noticeable blue along her spine are hidden beneath the folds of her wings, only seen perhaps from above. She often finds herself here, staring into the ocean and its wrinkled waves that crash incessantly against the blackened shoreline. They’re continuous and without fail; Olena decides this is why she is so fond of the ocean - there are no surprises.
She had heard whisperings of the fate of the North. Her weak heart had broken for them as the smell of ash was brought to their shores. The scent wasn’t much different from the bittersweet twinge of the hearty volcano that sits at Tephra’s epicenter, but the knowledge of the fires made it all the more like dust in her mouth. Olena’s thoughtful gaze captures that glimmer of burnt gold in the near distance, a flurry of wings, and the sound of something rather solid thudding into the sand. A familiar sound, one that accompanies her mother or brother often, and does not raise any alarm as her slender head rises to catch a better look.
The girl is so curious; she always has been. But her sickness keeps her from most things and as she watches the young stallion pace with a somewhat disheveled and far-off look on his face, fear and uncertainty creep into her mind. She wouldn't be able to outrun him (or fly from him) if he would intend her harm.
Her dark legs bring her closer to him - slow and steady and methodical, each step thoughtful and deliberate as if deciding exactly how much energy it would take to get nearer to him. She’s nearly there and she’s sure that he’s spotted her (those dark and unuseful wings did her no favors as camouflage), but she stops lengths away - for not only had her nervousness gotten the better of her, but she finds her lungs aching for oxygen.
So she says nothing, not yet, as her dark nostrils flare wildly to catch her breath and those large eyes on a too skinny face watch him silently.
OLENA
& all the stars go dark
i turn the light on in my soul
@[Nashua]