12-11-2015, 11:54 AM
yael
Yael remembers a time when the very idea of magic was foreign to her; every miracle was bestowed upon them by Adonai, their God. He protected her tribe, and in turn, they worshipped him. Every trial and tribulation was because they must have done something wrong, committed a sin or perhaps was simply because Adonai was testing them, to determine the measure of their faith. It all came crashing down with the fire - what kind of God punishes a little girl like that? Eventually her faith returned, but it had morphed into something else, and it was in large part to B’kanna, and the sanctuary she’d found in its sands.
To some, she is old, having been born well before the first Valley War. To others, to the immortals, she is simply one of the newer magicians and still young in her years. She has much to learn, both in regards to her power and the ways of the universe.
Today, the golden woman is taking a day for herself, trading the constant heat of the sands for the warm, but shade-offering meadow (at least on the fringes). Alone with her thoughts, Yael stands beneath a large maple tree, giant gilded wings tucked against her sides while a light breeze gently lifts silver tendrils of her mane off her neck every now and then. Her mind is… everywhere. Literally. Expanding her awareness to take in all the horses in the meadow, she is more like an invisible blanket as she observes, than a petite, shiny mare. It’s a terrible habit (alas, also terribly useful), but she eavesdrops on their thoughts, gleaming bits of information and pretending that she’s looking to see if anyone needs help.
They don’t. But that is always her cover story. Instead, she finds that someone is passing by her physical body, so the little woman opens her eyes and glances over at a black stallion who seems to have paused on his way into the middle. Interesting. A cursory glance tells her that he is one of the very old ones, which means that he has stories - stories that Yael is always eager to hear, if she can pry it out of her victims. So she takes a couple of steps forward and calls out to him from behind, a gentle and inquisitive smile on her lips. “Xello.”
Let’s keep it simple for once, shall we?
To some, she is old, having been born well before the first Valley War. To others, to the immortals, she is simply one of the newer magicians and still young in her years. She has much to learn, both in regards to her power and the ways of the universe.
Today, the golden woman is taking a day for herself, trading the constant heat of the sands for the warm, but shade-offering meadow (at least on the fringes). Alone with her thoughts, Yael stands beneath a large maple tree, giant gilded wings tucked against her sides while a light breeze gently lifts silver tendrils of her mane off her neck every now and then. Her mind is… everywhere. Literally. Expanding her awareness to take in all the horses in the meadow, she is more like an invisible blanket as she observes, than a petite, shiny mare. It’s a terrible habit (alas, also terribly useful), but she eavesdrops on their thoughts, gleaming bits of information and pretending that she’s looking to see if anyone needs help.
They don’t. But that is always her cover story. Instead, she finds that someone is passing by her physical body, so the little woman opens her eyes and glances over at a black stallion who seems to have paused on his way into the middle. Interesting. A cursory glance tells her that he is one of the very old ones, which means that he has stories - stories that Yael is always eager to hear, if she can pry it out of her victims. So she takes a couple of steps forward and calls out to him from behind, a gentle and inquisitive smile on her lips. “Xello.”
Let’s keep it simple for once, shall we?
[yeahhh... couldn't help myself when i saw that you'd posted
]