05-21-2018, 11:08 AM
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H er eyes slide closed as his mouth finds hers. These are the moments she treasures, when they can so quietly speak diplomacy and, in the same breath, friendship. A piece of her (jealous and seething, but altogether too small to truly be thought of) wonders if he whispers of Tephra’s politics to Tangerine in their lover’s bed. Does he keep his worried thoughts twisted away from his beloved’s ears? They are thoughts of the lonely woman held deep with Wound and she forcefully pushes them away before she might travel down a rabbit hole she cannot climb out of.She clings to Warrick’s words instead, feeling the rise and fall of his emotions with each topic they discuss. “I think that is wise,” she acknowledges in respect to Ischia. The kingdom and its King seemed like the opposite of Klaudius and Krone’s frantic, agitated accusations. Wound supposes their memories might have been twisted in light of leaving their own home. Her thoughts turn toward the lavender faces of the children and a soft sigh leaves her mouth. But the peace of the night unsettles itself from her heart when Warrick speaks of stolen Tephrans. Krone and Kwartz and, even Karat. A surprise snort startles itself from her nostrils. “So soon after they just arrived?” She wonders how anyone would know that the lavender family have found refuge in Tephra. “I doubt it’s Ischia.” Her tail flicks gently against her heels, reflecting again on her discussion with Brennen. The bay had been too pleasant to be harboring either a grudge or Tephrans in his borders. Yet they are silent now, two heavy heads looking toward the star-splattered sky. Warrick mentions their daughter and she feels the claws of longing touch her heart once more. “She would try to fly to the stars, if she had wings.” There’s a laugh on the breath of her voice. The twilight breeze is beginning to stir, tangling her silver-ombre mane and knotting it against her neck. “How have you and Tangerine been?” She’s met his partner a handful of times, yet the true depth of their relationship is one Wound is delicately unsure of. |
credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Warrick]