09-02-2016, 12:47 AM
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the dead are gone, and the living are hungry.
Lexa hasn’t had quite the illustrious history that Reagan has. In fact, Lexa’s only been around for eleven years - a respectable amount of time in the average horses’ life, but in comparison to Reagan? Piddle.
She’s grown and lived in the Jungle, battled with her sister, fought and killed in a war against the Chamber, fought to protect the Deserts against a raid, risen to queen at the age of nine, adopted a child … and that’s it. That’s as far as her claim to fame extends.
She hasn’t lived near long enough to treat with kingdoms and their rulers, to seduce kings, and to give birth to a long, long line of descendants that often sit on Beqannian thrones. Perhaps someday she will reach the great age that her unknown ancestress has reached - she has her father’s immortality after all - but if one were to ask her, to truly press her, she would not wish for it. She can guess what such a long life would cost her, the losses she would face, the rises and falls she would witness, and not wish to witness. If she were to wish for anything in that regard, she would wish for a long reign with power and glory for the Jungle … and to go out fighting, in a blaze of glory, as her mother did.
If she were to truly consider the cost of immortality, she would truly have more appreciation for her mother’s death. For the simple way she fought and died for her kingdom, going up in a literal blaze of smoke and ash.
But she doesn’t consider it, not yet. She’s only eleven after all, still quite young by the standards of most Beqannians. Too young to consider what a future of watching all of her loved ones die will be like.
And even if she were to consider it, what would it benefit? She cannot chose her own end - only live in the moment. Who knows what fate will have in store for her, years down the road?
And, in this particular moment, she’s watching the ancient magician with something akin to wonder in her eyes. The mare laughs, a sound that implies a joke Lexa has somehow missed, and Lexa watches, wide-eyed, as the trees reach out with grasping fingers to cover the mare in an amour of leaf and twig. As she watches, she can’t help but wonder what those old eyes have seen, and what other powers might be lurking beneath the surface. Magic. She can feel it in her very bones.
She blinks when the mare mentions her name, though somehow, she’s not surprised. “Yes, quite fitting I think.” It will not protect her from much, but Lexa very much doubts this mare needs armour for protection. “I feel that you have me at a disadvantage. What’s your name?”
She’s grown and lived in the Jungle, battled with her sister, fought and killed in a war against the Chamber, fought to protect the Deserts against a raid, risen to queen at the age of nine, adopted a child … and that’s it. That’s as far as her claim to fame extends.
She hasn’t lived near long enough to treat with kingdoms and their rulers, to seduce kings, and to give birth to a long, long line of descendants that often sit on Beqannian thrones. Perhaps someday she will reach the great age that her unknown ancestress has reached - she has her father’s immortality after all - but if one were to ask her, to truly press her, she would not wish for it. She can guess what such a long life would cost her, the losses she would face, the rises and falls she would witness, and not wish to witness. If she were to wish for anything in that regard, she would wish for a long reign with power and glory for the Jungle … and to go out fighting, in a blaze of glory, as her mother did.
If she were to truly consider the cost of immortality, she would truly have more appreciation for her mother’s death. For the simple way she fought and died for her kingdom, going up in a literal blaze of smoke and ash.
But she doesn’t consider it, not yet. She’s only eleven after all, still quite young by the standards of most Beqannians. Too young to consider what a future of watching all of her loved ones die will be like.
And even if she were to consider it, what would it benefit? She cannot chose her own end - only live in the moment. Who knows what fate will have in store for her, years down the road?
And, in this particular moment, she’s watching the ancient magician with something akin to wonder in her eyes. The mare laughs, a sound that implies a joke Lexa has somehow missed, and Lexa watches, wide-eyed, as the trees reach out with grasping fingers to cover the mare in an amour of leaf and twig. As she watches, she can’t help but wonder what those old eyes have seen, and what other powers might be lurking beneath the surface. Magic. She can feel it in her very bones.
She blinks when the mare mentions her name, though somehow, she’s not surprised. “Yes, quite fitting I think.” It will not protect her from much, but Lexa very much doubts this mare needs armour for protection. “I feel that you have me at a disadvantage. What’s your name?”
lexa