11-02-2016, 04:57 PM
She had grown up in the Tundra, too, had fallen in love with a world so big that it could be both busy with new faces and quieter at the outskirts. Unlike her father, she had never loved the political side of the kingdom, had no mind for war or peace, or even castes at all for that matter. She had only been a princess by blood, never by choice. In that way she was much more like her mother, wild and untethered, but bound to the Tundra by her love for its King.
Australis stayed because she was bound to the mountains, to the aching blue sky swept with stars overhead.
But all that was gone now.
The day is bright, the kind that leaves you with a headache at its end for the way the sun makes you squint when it bounces and flashes in a thousand different places across the gleaming snow-glaze. It is still her favorite, though, this winter season, this little sliver of home that continues to thrive in an otherwise changed world. The cold is like a balm against her skin, and she doesn’t notice the teeth of ice in the wind when it rushes through the tangles of her dark mane.
She turns her gaze out across the meadow, those eyes soft and bright and dark all at once. When they pause it is on the face of a stranger, and in some way she recognizes something in him that pulls a smile across her mouth. It’s the conflict she sees etched in the shadow of his face, a tension or a worry, and it reminds her of Tobiah and how much he disliked socializing. Before this stranger has a chance to turn back and disappear into the shadows, she pushes forward to join him, pressing her nose against his neck in quiet greeting. This close, she can see the starkness of his skin, the places where new snowflakes land and hold for a second before melting into a velvety black. They remind her of stars, of the sky above her mountains.
“Hello,” she says, and her voice is soft, gentle, just a chime of sound at his shoulder because she does not want to shatter the peace of the day, “I’m Australis.” Then she is quiet again, content as she turns her gaze back out across a landscape that still feels new even though the old kingdoms have been gone for so long. With a sigh, a solemn sound, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not seeing the Tundra mountains beneath the skyline,” and then, belatedly, “they were home, once.”
Australis stayed because she was bound to the mountains, to the aching blue sky swept with stars overhead.
But all that was gone now.
The day is bright, the kind that leaves you with a headache at its end for the way the sun makes you squint when it bounces and flashes in a thousand different places across the gleaming snow-glaze. It is still her favorite, though, this winter season, this little sliver of home that continues to thrive in an otherwise changed world. The cold is like a balm against her skin, and she doesn’t notice the teeth of ice in the wind when it rushes through the tangles of her dark mane.
She turns her gaze out across the meadow, those eyes soft and bright and dark all at once. When they pause it is on the face of a stranger, and in some way she recognizes something in him that pulls a smile across her mouth. It’s the conflict she sees etched in the shadow of his face, a tension or a worry, and it reminds her of Tobiah and how much he disliked socializing. Before this stranger has a chance to turn back and disappear into the shadows, she pushes forward to join him, pressing her nose against his neck in quiet greeting. This close, she can see the starkness of his skin, the places where new snowflakes land and hold for a second before melting into a velvety black. They remind her of stars, of the sky above her mountains.
“Hello,” she says, and her voice is soft, gentle, just a chime of sound at his shoulder because she does not want to shatter the peace of the day, “I’m Australis.” Then she is quiet again, content as she turns her gaze back out across a landscape that still feels new even though the old kingdoms have been gone for so long. With a sigh, a solemn sound, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not seeing the Tundra mountains beneath the skyline,” and then, belatedly, “they were home, once.”