i am the violence in the pouring rain
i am a hurricaneThe Chamber does have a way of calling. It calls some back time and time again, like Atrox, who slips from the mountain when the kingdom seems to need him most. It simply feels like home to some the moment they walk in, and for others, it tugs their loyalty until they finally find they can serve no other home. And for others, like her, there simply is no other alternative. Never has been, never will be.
One day, when the Chamber no longer needs her, she will retire to the mountains and live out of her life (which can be as long as she wants, really) watching her kingdom. She can’t bring herself to leave it, not completely. Though she will guard it as a raven one day rather than with an army of them.
The day seems to be looming. The kingdom has grown and flourished, perhaps because of her, and perhaps because she’s just been terribly lucky (or maybe because they are all afraid of her). But whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. Soon, the Chamber will need a different sort of leader.
But that day has not come yet. And the ravens still watch the border, letting her know of the gray mare. She weaves through the trees, brushing against the bark as she goes. The pine forests have always been home, will always be home, and she can move through them with ease. She brushes against the trees simply because she enjoys it (and if she’s entirely honest, which she rarely is, her swollen barrel is slightly cumbersome in the forest).
“Hello. I’m Straia. How can I help you?” She asks, coming to a halt in front of the other mare. Despite her large belly, she’s still beautiful in that wild, careless way of hers. She looks like she doesn’t try or care, and in truth, she doesn’t. Though she wears her crown of raven feathers as she always does, the one piece of her appearance she thinks about.
straia
the raven queen of the chamber
