tell me life is beautiful; toli pony

[leliana]

leliana

oh, the desert dreams of a river that will run down to the sea
like my heart longs for an ocean to wash down over me

 
Magic once again brims softly beneath the surface of Leliana.

It is not a loud magic. Much like Leliana herself, the magic is serene—as calm and unperturbed as the depths of untouched lakes. It is a quiet magic, restorative and compassionate. That moment Exist had reached forth and pressed the power to heal back into her chest for safekeeping, Leliana had felt whole. She had remembered the power of it flooding her up on the Mountain, the way it burned along the edges of her consciousness, but it had begun to fade with time. Fade until it felt like nothing more than a dream.

But now—oh!—now, she can feel it flickering to life once more within her, alighting her nerves with the reminder of her gift, her aching heart reaching outward to those hurting souls around her. If only she could somehow heal their hearts; if only she could bring as much mental peace as she brings physical relief. The world around her is so broken, so battered and bruised. How she aches to set it right.

Of course, such grandiose ideals are kept to herself. Leliana does not fancy herself some savior. She does not think herself much of anything except the quiet sister, the shy one. She does not burn as brightly as Exist; she does not glow as magnificently. Not that she would ever envy her sister. She feels nothing but love for her sister, feels nothing but admiration for the way that she burns and sparks—the wildfire in her.

She is quiet as she moves through the meadow, mahogany eyes peering outward from beneath a thicket of wild forelock, the curls and volume of her mane a direct contrast to her shy demeanor. As she walks by crowds of horses, she reaches out with her power to heal the minor cuts and bruises of the unknowing, knitting together their flesh and easing their bruises without so much a flicker of her eyes. She does not want them to know that it was her alleviating their pain; it was enough to know that it was done.

When she reaches the edge of the meadow, she curls next to the foot of an oak, her wings turning a beautiful shade of indigo as she thinks of her sister. She tucks them close into her barrel and dips her lovely head down, doing her best to not think of the loneliness that quietly sneaks into her heart.