If the sisterhood seemed more tangible, more real, then perhaps Nayl would allow herself to look upon it with more openness, but alas, her mind still twists around the shores where death lies. Their herd is diminishing and further convincing her of the morbidity that is tied with the geographic region. When she looks at the sand she sees rust-colored blood aged by the sun; she sees carcasses and tears. She doesn’t see hope. She doesn’t see a light or feel a tug in her heart guiding her back to the region. It doesn’t call to her as the Jungle had. After so many months of mulling it over Nayl is considering the prospect that the land isn’t for her, that the disassembling band of women no longer hold her loyalty (is she awful to even consider this?).
Hearing Djinni comment on the fall of their leaders incites an amused grin to tug at the corners of the piebald’s lips. ”It’s amazing how quickly not one - but three - leaders can fall so quickly into a lull.” She hadn’t been initially approving and it’s proving to be a true premonition now. Their band of horses is withering under their leadership and Nayl is at an impasse as to what she should be doing.
Her stomach writhes and twists while her thoughtful eyes skim the meadow before looking at Djinni again. ”It shouldn’t be tolerated,” but she doesn’t want to take a land of death and fallen promises. Perhaps there is hope elsewhere, a better option that lies in an unexplored mist to the northwest. Pursing her lips shut Nayl considers the options, but she doesn’t voice them aloud. Everything is meticulously weighed, her soul and mind groping hastily for answers until she looks up and hears the mischievous tone in Djinni’s voice.
It happens quickly, her shifting, and Nayl stands in awe and curiosity as a replica of their Queen stands before them. ”An interesting trick indeed,” her tail sweeps across her haunches, her grin curling until the question is reciprocated. Taught muscles flinch beneath her coat and she blinks slowly. ”No, not yet,” her head turns and she peers up at the towering mountain, ”but soon.” It won’t be long until she is at the feet of the faeries humbly throwing her pleas to them so that she may begin filling the missing holes in her soul, the gaps where magic had once pieced her together. ”Soon, my secrets will remain just that: mine. No one will be able to see into my mind.”
They won’t know her scheming.
They won’t know about Djinni’s useful trick.
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