Forget stardust - you are iron.
Your blood is nothing but ferrous liquid.
Even as she thinks of a golden horse one appears, but it is immediately clear that this horse is not the sire of her children. She has overo markings where Ammit had wings, but Dorne offers her a smile as she approaches nonetheless. Dorne notices the bright red flower worn by sworn members of the Amazons and wonder what it must be like to swear yourself to a kingdom and wear its insignia one’s entire life. The Tundra had their version – she has heard tales of her grandfather’s scars – but the idea has never much appealed to her. She is brightly colored enough; she has no need of colorful tattoos.
As she opens her mouth to say hello, her eyes catch the last of the dying sparks on Rhy’s sides.
“My brother did that,” she says instead of ‘hello’. “Sparked, I mean. He’d always torment Kreios with it – chased the poor boy all the way from the Dale to the Deserts with zaps.” She smiles fondly – mostly because she has never been on the receiving end of a serious strike. (She was always quick with her teeth, and she had the advantage of age and size on them as children.)
Realizing that she might have inadvertently implied that Rhy might also be sadistic with her sparking, Dorne quickly adds. “Not that you shock your sisters, I’m sure. If you treated them the way Kratos treated Kreios, I’m not sure they’d let you keep that pretty flower.” She gestures to the red bloom with a little smile, unaware that she’s mentioned a name familiar to the Amazon.
“I’m Dorne, by the way. Scorch is letting me stay until my children are born.” she’s sure that Scorch would be glad to let her stay longer, but Dorne has a life to get back to. One that is not in the sweltering heat of the Jungle, even if she has no idea where that might be. “It’s nice to meet you, Rhy.”
Dorne
You are iron. And you are strong