06-19-2018, 11:04 PM
I have turned away - my eyes seek out the quest path back to the seclusion of the more rugged hills - when I hear my name. It is not a voice I am familiar with, which means it can only be Wolfbane. Twisting only my head, I glance over my left shoulder to see that the new king is coming toward.
Already?
My blue-grey eyes seek out Arthas, but the dappled stallion has other matters to attend to, and so I face the palomino stallion alone. There is doubt in my expression and in the way I cannot help but lean away from him, but I do not back away. Instead I face him squarely, glancing up into his blue-masked face even as my heart patters rapidly. I'm no longer certain of protocol; I had been a queen, then a king's consort, then another's captive. Now there is another king and my position is tenuous at best.
I'd been expecting questions (nay, demands), but what he asks me leaves me blinking for a moment. He wants to know about my broken wing? Why does that matter? Does he know that reminding me of its crooked healing brings back the memory of the breaking - is this a ploy?
No, I decide, he seems innocent enough. Curiosity is all it is, but still I am untrusting. Only habit and training (keep the men happy, Lepis, and you will live. give them what they want and tell them what they want to hear) keep me honest.
"I failed at a diplomatic mission." I tell him. "I was punished."
I shift my weight, pulling my wings as close to me as I can like some sort of feathered shield. The shattered wing had not been the only casualty of that punishment, but it is the most obvious. My left wing has healed much more readily, and the blood Modicum Mortem had drawn - both inside and out - has long since scabbed over. The marks of his teeth along my crest blend with the others, and the silvery scars from his hooves are no deeper than the rest of them.
"I learned my lesson." I add, least he think I was not properly disciplined. "I won't fail again."
Already?
My blue-grey eyes seek out Arthas, but the dappled stallion has other matters to attend to, and so I face the palomino stallion alone. There is doubt in my expression and in the way I cannot help but lean away from him, but I do not back away. Instead I face him squarely, glancing up into his blue-masked face even as my heart patters rapidly. I'm no longer certain of protocol; I had been a queen, then a king's consort, then another's captive. Now there is another king and my position is tenuous at best.
I'd been expecting questions (nay, demands), but what he asks me leaves me blinking for a moment. He wants to know about my broken wing? Why does that matter? Does he know that reminding me of its crooked healing brings back the memory of the breaking - is this a ploy?
No, I decide, he seems innocent enough. Curiosity is all it is, but still I am untrusting. Only habit and training (keep the men happy, Lepis, and you will live. give them what they want and tell them what they want to hear) keep me honest.
"I failed at a diplomatic mission." I tell him. "I was punished."
I shift my weight, pulling my wings as close to me as I can like some sort of feathered shield. The shattered wing had not been the only casualty of that punishment, but it is the most obvious. My left wing has healed much more readily, and the blood Modicum Mortem had drawn - both inside and out - has long since scabbed over. The marks of his teeth along my crest blend with the others, and the silvery scars from his hooves are no deeper than the rest of them.
"I learned my lesson." I add, least he think I was not properly disciplined. "I won't fail again."
