07-04-2016, 08:00 AM
WEIR
He thought it was Warshyshippy, that scent of ashen, pine forest finding him where he was grazing. That’s why he came so fast I’d say, barreling over the Dale’s Meadow as a gust of wind and snow. A whirl of a blizzard, spiraling upwards towards the sky and roving over the spring grass like a tornado. It was excitement that fueled him, convinced that the war hardened Chamberling had come down to visit him. Made a special trip to greet an old friend after years of tucking himself away in the hills. Then again he remembered what had happened, that Warship might not have a pleasant visit in mind, and Weir slowed.
He ceased is furious tumbling, becoming a whisper of the force he had just been and trickled slowly towards the border where he was sure the blackened beast lay in wait.
It wasn’t Shippy though, not even quite. He finds the woman instead, the one that was fading blue and winged like a bird. He had left them there, after it had happened, taken by an illness he did not understand at the time. Weir had crawled away, rolled as he did in the ice until he had made it home, head pounding from the ordeal. Not a moment was taken to check on her, she could have been dead for all he knew, could have disappeared the way the Jungle Lioness had and he would never have noticed.
She wasn’t dead though, she was quite alive, just as Shippy had been when they found him. It should have taken more time to settle in than it did but Weir had accepted the man’s life without question, simply happy that he was breathing. Elated, until the Amazon revealed her true nature, intent on striking revenge into both his friend and the bird-woman before him. That’s not allowed though, not where Weir is concerned and instead of having her way they had Weir’s way instead. He had latched himself to that Magic, tugged the tendrils away with such fierceness that they had snapped all together, breaking the tether even though it were only half formed. What he had done was marvelous, great even but practically terrifying. That’s why they didn’t often seek his company, the Magicians, they didn’t like that. Weir was an anomaly in his own right, able to twist their powers to his own will, to coerce the flow, change the intent of it.
That’s what he had done, knowing full well the Lion had meant to snuff the life from them both. Kimber, she says as he solidifies before her first snow, then ice, then flesh. “I remember you,” he says, amber eyes bright as she speaks and then her words break and his ears fall. “Warship,” he says it for her, completes the name because in contrast he can not stand for it to be left broken that way. “I know you were, she knew you were too, that woman. Prague.” Rusty forelock falls over his brow and he gets the feeling this is a story to her, one she hasn’t heard though she has every right to remember it herself under normal circumstances. “Does he need me back? Did he ask for me? Why’ve you come?”
He ceased is furious tumbling, becoming a whisper of the force he had just been and trickled slowly towards the border where he was sure the blackened beast lay in wait.
It wasn’t Shippy though, not even quite. He finds the woman instead, the one that was fading blue and winged like a bird. He had left them there, after it had happened, taken by an illness he did not understand at the time. Weir had crawled away, rolled as he did in the ice until he had made it home, head pounding from the ordeal. Not a moment was taken to check on her, she could have been dead for all he knew, could have disappeared the way the Jungle Lioness had and he would never have noticed.
She wasn’t dead though, she was quite alive, just as Shippy had been when they found him. It should have taken more time to settle in than it did but Weir had accepted the man’s life without question, simply happy that he was breathing. Elated, until the Amazon revealed her true nature, intent on striking revenge into both his friend and the bird-woman before him. That’s not allowed though, not where Weir is concerned and instead of having her way they had Weir’s way instead. He had latched himself to that Magic, tugged the tendrils away with such fierceness that they had snapped all together, breaking the tether even though it were only half formed. What he had done was marvelous, great even but practically terrifying. That’s why they didn’t often seek his company, the Magicians, they didn’t like that. Weir was an anomaly in his own right, able to twist their powers to his own will, to coerce the flow, change the intent of it.
That’s what he had done, knowing full well the Lion had meant to snuff the life from them both. Kimber, she says as he solidifies before her first snow, then ice, then flesh. “I remember you,” he says, amber eyes bright as she speaks and then her words break and his ears fall. “Warship,” he says it for her, completes the name because in contrast he can not stand for it to be left broken that way. “I know you were, she knew you were too, that woman. Prague.” Rusty forelock falls over his brow and he gets the feeling this is a story to her, one she hasn’t heard though she has every right to remember it herself under normal circumstances. “Does he need me back? Did he ask for me? Why’ve you come?”
WINTER IS COMING