[private] Heavy is the crown, sinking on deaf ears [Assailant]

[Famkee]

Listening to thoughts inside a tortured mind wasn't exactly new to her. Believing them held a different weight, in a way she thinks it's what's kept her pushing through the veil, fantasizing of a prettier picture behind the deception. Frightening as her newly found gift had introduced itself, making peace with it had proven just as difficult. Cursed with past torments, now she's to learn of future affairs to add to the already fragile teetering crevices, cracking to reveal parts of herself long thought buried. Her younger self would turn a blind eye to the present fears, bothersome enough but easily worn thin if she tried. Trying, as feeble as it might sound, letting it all go would mean starting over, detached from what and who she was and that was petrifying enough to tether her.

The only difference from listening to the past and the future is the unknown, the uncharted faces, places and the feelings they brought. At least her pain was familiar, these abstract visions influenced not only foreign visuals but the loss of control. Trying to harness her clairvoyance might as well have been a battle not even the warrior could tame. Were the sprites and spirits of Beqanna only here to taunt her? Flashes of a landscape unexplored by her, yet challenged by an equine also exploring his gifts prompted weary legs to travel. Finding him wasn't as difficult as she thought, she could see his whereabouts, the faces he sought familiar to him. Becoming accustomed to seeing future events and bleeding them into the present tangled it's fearsome claws around her ribs, but maybe this was a path for growth, exploiting her unease and transforming it into an opportunistic favor, after all this was her gift and if she was going to use it she shouldn't be afraid of it. She can't be afraid, anymore.

The Dale's scattered mountains spilt the valleys with their grace as she walks through the trees, she can smell the lake placed in the center of the lowland. Her mouth is parched as she tries to shift her teeth, the thought of actually seeing him where she found him inside her head seems far fetched, but the hope of seeing him in the flesh dries her throat. She hates him for this, making her stretch this gift, possibly too soon. The idea that she could be wrong makes the mare tense. Having faith crawls around the back of her mind though, and for a moment the thought of being right prevails. His familiar scent is tangible, it's there inside her nose, sure she could imagine it, but the hoof prints faintly disturbing the leaf litter below didn't lie. His scent is the only thing familiar here, despite what she's already seen of this land inside strangled perceptions. She's quiet, unsure if he's alone. Famkee isn't the friendliest in the beginnings of relations. 

Her ebony mane catches the snarling vines, golden pelt still unassuming in its camouflage, like a tigress stalking prey, blatant in the open but perfectly concealed in the mess of the forest. She's an assassian as he becomes visible to her eye, his dark pelt, wings that look a bit more established on his back, and a horn put to waste that is, until she teaches him how to make use of his weapon. A massive part of her wants to wake up the sleeping giant from her past and put her knowledge to wield in the practice of another. The swelling of the scheme fuels her steps forward, even though she prefers to wait in the cover for a few more moments to admire the stallion. The gravelly sand surrounding the lake is nearly as black as her legs, quite a beautiful contrast to the crystal clearness of the water. As she approaches, a small sly grin finds it's way to her mouth, followed by an ever slyer greeting, the words drip like honeyed sap. "Assailant."      

if my heart is in your hands will i die

Famkee

@assailant Here i am 30 years later. 0_-