05-15-2017, 06:06 PM
i'm not going to change, so stay out of my way.
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
She is quiet – though, perhaps, that was anything but unusual.
She was often lost in her own thoughts – observing, calculating.
Careful and precise, silence was a preference to the alternative, and she was content to linger in the quiet that lingered between she, her fellow councilman and her Queen. It was a comfortable stillness, with little but the sound of their own languid limbs parting the dry vegetation, or the soft rustling of grain and sand stirring beneath their weight. It permitted her to filter through her thoughts, which were many and heavy – a burden settled between the rigid tension of her shoulder blades; a weight she shared with few – if any at all.
Alas, it is a long expedition, over many miles and many hours – she, herself, had never gone as far as the far west, and to see the gleaming sea (paler than what she was used to; a deep and rich turquoise in comparison to the dark, rumbling abyss she had come to know) is something of a reprieve to her.
While she had been born amid the shadows of a dark, deep valley, she craved the ocean – its clutches calling out to her; its roaring waves pounding repeatedly against the wet, densely packed sand always soothing the disquiet stirring inside of her. It had become as much a part of her as the volcano’s rhythmic rumble or the rustling of the dry brush in the heat of summer.
Though she kept to herself (maintaining a steady pace, but several feet back from either Lucrezia or Dahmer), she was anything but oblivious – the way the coal painted stallion brushed gently against his two-toned Queen, and the way his gaze lingered on her when lost is thought did not go amiss. She felt sorely like a third wheel, but her mind did not linger on the thought for long. If Dahmer wanted to make his thinly veiled feelings known to Lucrezia, he would, in his own time – it was little concern to her.
As Lucrezia finally ceases at an unseen border, she, too, comes to a halt – coming up to her right side, opposite of her follow council, as her hazel eyes search the stirring sea and jagged cliffs. It is not long before another approaches – draped in an ashy gray, with deep, searing blue eyes. She had seen her before (many times, in fact – Heartfire was her own age, and she has a faint memory of seeing her in her youth), but a name does not come to mind.
She pays little mind to the towering male that soon follows, for he is silent, with nothing to add (perhaps he has only come to observe, as she had, but only time would tell) – and then, at last, a two-toned smoky female descends upon the gathering, her golden eyes watchful as her young son stays close to her.
”Ellyse,” she says, with little else to say (after all, it is Lucrezia who is best with words) – she has been ignored, for the most part, though there is a small part of her that is content with it.
She was often lost in her own thoughts – observing, calculating.
Careful and precise, silence was a preference to the alternative, and she was content to linger in the quiet that lingered between she, her fellow councilman and her Queen. It was a comfortable stillness, with little but the sound of their own languid limbs parting the dry vegetation, or the soft rustling of grain and sand stirring beneath their weight. It permitted her to filter through her thoughts, which were many and heavy – a burden settled between the rigid tension of her shoulder blades; a weight she shared with few – if any at all.
Alas, it is a long expedition, over many miles and many hours – she, herself, had never gone as far as the far west, and to see the gleaming sea (paler than what she was used to; a deep and rich turquoise in comparison to the dark, rumbling abyss she had come to know) is something of a reprieve to her.
While she had been born amid the shadows of a dark, deep valley, she craved the ocean – its clutches calling out to her; its roaring waves pounding repeatedly against the wet, densely packed sand always soothing the disquiet stirring inside of her. It had become as much a part of her as the volcano’s rhythmic rumble or the rustling of the dry brush in the heat of summer.
Though she kept to herself (maintaining a steady pace, but several feet back from either Lucrezia or Dahmer), she was anything but oblivious – the way the coal painted stallion brushed gently against his two-toned Queen, and the way his gaze lingered on her when lost is thought did not go amiss. She felt sorely like a third wheel, but her mind did not linger on the thought for long. If Dahmer wanted to make his thinly veiled feelings known to Lucrezia, he would, in his own time – it was little concern to her.
As Lucrezia finally ceases at an unseen border, she, too, comes to a halt – coming up to her right side, opposite of her follow council, as her hazel eyes search the stirring sea and jagged cliffs. It is not long before another approaches – draped in an ashy gray, with deep, searing blue eyes. She had seen her before (many times, in fact – Heartfire was her own age, and she has a faint memory of seeing her in her youth), but a name does not come to mind.
She pays little mind to the towering male that soon follows, for he is silent, with nothing to add (perhaps he has only come to observe, as she had, but only time would tell) – and then, at last, a two-toned smoky female descends upon the gathering, her golden eyes watchful as her young son stays close to her.
”Ellyse,” she says, with little else to say (after all, it is Lucrezia who is best with words) – she has been ignored, for the most part, though there is a small part of her that is content with it.
Ellyse
WOW SUPER LATE. Sorry, guys.