11-30-2020, 05:09 PM
take my soul & make it undone
be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow.
The memory of her death had scared her awake every night in the Afterlife but since her resurrection, she has slept peacefully. Would those nightmares have been more traumatizing if she had known what happened after her consciousness faded into the western ocean? She doesn’t know about how viciously Ivar had torn her jugular from her damp neck or about the years her skull has spent nestled among the fronds of his hiding place.
Nor does she know that the bone that flashes in Quell’s mind is her own bone, washed white by the forces of sun, weather, and time.
She mirrors Quell’s soft smile when he mentions Nerine. Wishbone wasn’t expecting him to know her name, nor her connection with the northern kingdom. It has been many years since she called Nerine home, even longer since she ruled there. Her amber eyes are curious as Quell explains his knowledge. An ache blossoms in her chest for a brief moment when she hears that Nerine is a shadow of what it used to be. Wishbone is certain Breckin is no longer Khaleesi… So who has reduced the thriving northern kingdom to a second-thought? She considers making a trip to the granite cliffs, to see who is ruling now and what their plans are.
Quell’s voice draws her attention from these musings and she focuses on the mystery of his knowledge. His mother must be someone she knows and Wishbone peers closer at his multicolored face as if the secrets of his parentage may speak to her from within the lines of his features. Yet he has moved onto another topic and Wishbone follows along, pushing her curiosity away for another day.
The question sends a laugh out of her throat, a sound that is equally mysterious and captivating. Wishbone’s voice is characteristically rough from her childhood in Tephra, yet the burn melts smoothly into honey-sweet femininity. The unique combination threads itself into her laugh as well, drawing a nearby stallion’s eyes away from his lunch. “Most of the time.” Delight blossoms on Wishbone’s face while her voice drops to a low hum. “Sometimes the adventures find me.” A thin wisp of dark hair brushes against the fading vulture scar that cuts against her left cheekbone. The nerves surrounding the scar remain tender and she flicks her head upwards to remove the nuisance.
“I haven’t had excitement in some time, Quell. What should we do?” She is curious about what he might say, with the idea of bold crusades seemingly new to him. Her gaze is friendly yet intense, though it lingers on his black-white-gold face for a moment before scanning the landscape behind his shoulder.
Nor does she know that the bone that flashes in Quell’s mind is her own bone, washed white by the forces of sun, weather, and time.
She mirrors Quell’s soft smile when he mentions Nerine. Wishbone wasn’t expecting him to know her name, nor her connection with the northern kingdom. It has been many years since she called Nerine home, even longer since she ruled there. Her amber eyes are curious as Quell explains his knowledge. An ache blossoms in her chest for a brief moment when she hears that Nerine is a shadow of what it used to be. Wishbone is certain Breckin is no longer Khaleesi… So who has reduced the thriving northern kingdom to a second-thought? She considers making a trip to the granite cliffs, to see who is ruling now and what their plans are.
Quell’s voice draws her attention from these musings and she focuses on the mystery of his knowledge. His mother must be someone she knows and Wishbone peers closer at his multicolored face as if the secrets of his parentage may speak to her from within the lines of his features. Yet he has moved onto another topic and Wishbone follows along, pushing her curiosity away for another day.
The question sends a laugh out of her throat, a sound that is equally mysterious and captivating. Wishbone’s voice is characteristically rough from her childhood in Tephra, yet the burn melts smoothly into honey-sweet femininity. The unique combination threads itself into her laugh as well, drawing a nearby stallion’s eyes away from his lunch. “Most of the time.” Delight blossoms on Wishbone’s face while her voice drops to a low hum. “Sometimes the adventures find me.” A thin wisp of dark hair brushes against the fading vulture scar that cuts against her left cheekbone. The nerves surrounding the scar remain tender and she flicks her head upwards to remove the nuisance.
“I haven’t had excitement in some time, Quell. What should we do?” She is curious about what he might say, with the idea of bold crusades seemingly new to him. Her gaze is friendly yet intense, though it lingers on his black-white-gold face for a moment before scanning the landscape behind his shoulder.
@[quell]