11-04-2016, 09:27 PM
She is afraid of little, if anything at all. She had always been protected in some way, either by her home in the Tundra’s mountains, or by the sheer vastness of her family. No one had ever allowed harm to come to the bay and white girl, no one had ever let her down. Even when the world had exploded, come irreversibly undone at the seams, she had still managed to find Tobiah, to find her family. She was lucky that way - impossibly unbroken, untouched by shadow in a world of perpetual dark.
Australis is quiet at his side, content with this closeness in a way that he is not. Where her desire for conversation has him rattled, her quiet questions leave him irritated, she more patient when he gives her that almost wary side-eye, almost bemused when he shakes his head at her. Tobiah hadn’t been entirely delighted with her persistence either, but she had managed to win him over eventually – enough that he had come to find her when the world unbecame. She felt certain she would be able to win the buckskin over, too.
“It’s not as different as I thought it would be.” She tells him at last, not bothering to lift her dark eyes from the snowy landscape to his sharp face. “On the surface, yes, it’s new and different. But at its core things are trying to return to what they were.” She is thinking of the Kingdoms, of how old had come together to form something new, something not quite same but still so close. But then her brow furrows and those eyes do shift to his face, to the wings on his back that had not been there before. “But I suppose it’s more different for you.” Unlike Ashely, and this generation he had blamed, Australis had never possessed any kind of magic of her own. She had not noticed its absence as so many others had.
The snow falls around them and for a moment she pushes the buckskin from her mind, choosing instead to close her eyes and lift that dark, delicate face to the approaching storm. This was what made her heart hurt, what bred longing and sorrow together in her chest. Little slices of the life she had known before, of a life that was over. This world had mountains, but they were not her mountains. She sighs and opens her eyes again, turning her head to find his gaze. “The snow,” she tells him as if it should be obvious, “last time it snowed, I was with you.” And then, because she’s curious, because sometimes she thinks she catches him looking at her oddly, because he pokes fun at her willingness to talk, “Why don’t you like me?”
Australis is quiet at his side, content with this closeness in a way that he is not. Where her desire for conversation has him rattled, her quiet questions leave him irritated, she more patient when he gives her that almost wary side-eye, almost bemused when he shakes his head at her. Tobiah hadn’t been entirely delighted with her persistence either, but she had managed to win him over eventually – enough that he had come to find her when the world unbecame. She felt certain she would be able to win the buckskin over, too.
“It’s not as different as I thought it would be.” She tells him at last, not bothering to lift her dark eyes from the snowy landscape to his sharp face. “On the surface, yes, it’s new and different. But at its core things are trying to return to what they were.” She is thinking of the Kingdoms, of how old had come together to form something new, something not quite same but still so close. But then her brow furrows and those eyes do shift to his face, to the wings on his back that had not been there before. “But I suppose it’s more different for you.” Unlike Ashely, and this generation he had blamed, Australis had never possessed any kind of magic of her own. She had not noticed its absence as so many others had.
The snow falls around them and for a moment she pushes the buckskin from her mind, choosing instead to close her eyes and lift that dark, delicate face to the approaching storm. This was what made her heart hurt, what bred longing and sorrow together in her chest. Little slices of the life she had known before, of a life that was over. This world had mountains, but they were not her mountains. She sighs and opens her eyes again, turning her head to find his gaze. “The snow,” she tells him as if it should be obvious, “last time it snowed, I was with you.” And then, because she’s curious, because sometimes she thinks she catches him looking at her oddly, because he pokes fun at her willingness to talk, “Why don’t you like me?”