12-04-2015, 09:18 AM
yael
Monsters don’t scare her; she’s walked alongside dragons and battle night-witches and curried favor with the Gods. She’s lost her sun and stars and brought him back again. Monsters are just another part of the inevitable - and monsters that cry are not monsters at all.
Yael is a woman who opens her arms to all things - or tries to - and as she flies on gilded wings, the colt’s despairing thoughts strike a chord in her. Despite its appearance, his raggedyness reminds her of Munroe, and she finds she cannot keep on going. Her wild child wouldn’t accept this thing as a sibling, she thinks, and while she circles high above, an idea comes to her. Yael already has a great number of children, of loved ones to care for and family that takes up her time. What if Vanquish…? She knows he would do anything she asked of him, and while she isn’t in the practice of asking for favors, she sends a cryptic thought towards her dragon-winged King, saying simply, Darleeng, t’ere ees somevone een ze Meadow t’at needs your xelp.
The golden mare disintegrates into a Disney-like coil of dust and floats down to the hungry, undead boy. A warmth settles into the area, hopefully seeping into his rotting flesh and easing the chill of a fading winter. And with the next thought, she calls mice to their deaths. Their squeaks will make her jaw clench, but it is for the greater good, and that is what ultimately matters.
Yael is a woman who opens her arms to all things - or tries to - and as she flies on gilded wings, the colt’s despairing thoughts strike a chord in her. Despite its appearance, his raggedyness reminds her of Munroe, and she finds she cannot keep on going. Her wild child wouldn’t accept this thing as a sibling, she thinks, and while she circles high above, an idea comes to her. Yael already has a great number of children, of loved ones to care for and family that takes up her time. What if Vanquish…? She knows he would do anything she asked of him, and while she isn’t in the practice of asking for favors, she sends a cryptic thought towards her dragon-winged King, saying simply, Darleeng, t’ere ees somevone een ze Meadow t’at needs your xelp.
The golden mare disintegrates into a Disney-like coil of dust and floats down to the hungry, undead boy. A warmth settles into the area, hopefully seeping into his rotting flesh and easing the chill of a fading winter. And with the next thought, she calls mice to their deaths. Their squeaks will make her jaw clench, but it is for the greater good, and that is what ultimately matters.