07-26-2017, 04:55 PM
Djinni watches the surprise flicker across the bay horse’s face as her son names his kingdom before the visitor can. There’s a strange sensation that follows it, an odd sort of warmth and relational superiority.
Pride, she labels it. Maternal Pride.
Half a decade later and Djinni is still discovering new emotions.
The grullo mare has always known that her son was a wanderer. He’d begged for adventures throughout childhood. At first he was content with stories and wild tales, but too soon he wanted to take his own journeys. They’d let him, at far too young an age for Djinni. His father had seemed less concerned, certain about it all in that way that Djinni never understood. It seems that it had been the right choice after all, she thinks with a wry smile.
When they had arrived, Ivar had stopped scant inches farther back than Djinni had, his body language clearly signifying that she was leading the Sylvan half of this political conversation. Encoruaged by the warm smile that she gives him, the lanky young stallions step a bit closer, his shoulder brushing against his mother’s .
Djinni eyes are clouded for a moment as a frown crosses her face. “Ivar,” she says quietly and rather suddenly, “I have to go.”
“My mother has other business to attend to.” Ivar says, stepping forward. Behind him, Djinni has already disappeared into a cloud of golden sand.
“Sorry about that,” he adds with a smile. “She’s expecting twins any minute now.” And yes, of course that makes sense. Best to not be out in the open when she goes into labor. Best to find somewhere safe and leave the responsibility to Ivar.
The black and white stallion hesitates for a moment before speaking again. Nymphetamine had come with questions and Djinni truly was the one most qualified to speak to about them. She is not here though, Ivar reminds himself, this is his responsibility.
“Sylva is well,” he tells the older stallion. “Small,” he admits, “but stable.”
“As for diplomatic standings, we are doing well. This new Beqanna seems a calmer place than the Beqanna of my Mother’s stories.” The seemingly endless wars are little more than stories to young Ivar. He knows nothing of the way it feels to have generations of loyalty to a single realm in one bloodline, to know that a place is truly home. “What about Tephra? Is it still peaceful as well?” He almost asks about Warrick, how the other stallion is. Ivar had been rather fond of the man after their exploration of Tephra; he’d like to know he’s well.
OOC: so I have djinni already written as post birth and doing wonky timelines hurts my head, so I just decided to have her disappear from the convo to do that
Pride, she labels it. Maternal Pride.
Half a decade later and Djinni is still discovering new emotions.
The grullo mare has always known that her son was a wanderer. He’d begged for adventures throughout childhood. At first he was content with stories and wild tales, but too soon he wanted to take his own journeys. They’d let him, at far too young an age for Djinni. His father had seemed less concerned, certain about it all in that way that Djinni never understood. It seems that it had been the right choice after all, she thinks with a wry smile.
When they had arrived, Ivar had stopped scant inches farther back than Djinni had, his body language clearly signifying that she was leading the Sylvan half of this political conversation. Encoruaged by the warm smile that she gives him, the lanky young stallions step a bit closer, his shoulder brushing against his mother’s .
Djinni eyes are clouded for a moment as a frown crosses her face. “Ivar,” she says quietly and rather suddenly, “I have to go.”
“My mother has other business to attend to.” Ivar says, stepping forward. Behind him, Djinni has already disappeared into a cloud of golden sand.
“Sorry about that,” he adds with a smile. “She’s expecting twins any minute now.” And yes, of course that makes sense. Best to not be out in the open when she goes into labor. Best to find somewhere safe and leave the responsibility to Ivar.
The black and white stallion hesitates for a moment before speaking again. Nymphetamine had come with questions and Djinni truly was the one most qualified to speak to about them. She is not here though, Ivar reminds himself, this is his responsibility.
“Sylva is well,” he tells the older stallion. “Small,” he admits, “but stable.”
“As for diplomatic standings, we are doing well. This new Beqanna seems a calmer place than the Beqanna of my Mother’s stories.” The seemingly endless wars are little more than stories to young Ivar. He knows nothing of the way it feels to have generations of loyalty to a single realm in one bloodline, to know that a place is truly home. “What about Tephra? Is it still peaceful as well?” He almost asks about Warrick, how the other stallion is. Ivar had been rather fond of the man after their exploration of Tephra; he’d like to know he’s well.
OOC: so I have djinni already written as post birth and doing wonky timelines hurts my head, so I just decided to have her disappear from the convo to do that
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster