even monsters are made of stardust
The girl’s tone changes when Zosma mentions her obvious injury. She is glad, in a wholly selfish way, that the focus has shifted away from her own strangeness. Because there are far more important matters in their world, far more interesting and wondrous things than a Cursed woman damning and darkening the shores of an otherwise placid lake. At least this is pure curiosity rather than fear, she thinks, taking an unconscious step back from Warlight. She’s unintentionally inspired enough fear to start a riot in her name over the last year or two. At least this way, she can focus on something else, something new.
She can try to solve problems that are not her own.
The water stills around them once more as she listens, her ears twitching mildly as she takes in everything. There is so much to this place she hasn’t fully grown accustomed to yet, sights and sounds that have not become regular. She is still new here, still learning – still not sure if she will stay. The black creature leans back from her cursory examination of the wound. It is part of it, but not all that she meant. “He has done a fine job, to be sure. But I meant other injuries, too,” she says, tilting her heavy head so that her horns cradle the silvery light from above. “Internal injuries – those of the mind and heart and not of the flesh.”
She could see it in her eyes the moment she saw her, the look of hidden devastation and desire to be alone. Pain is like a love language to Zosma now; she can read it anywhere. Especially on the faces of those who try to hide it the most. “Do you want to talk about it?” Again, she’s blasé in the way the words leave her parted lips. The sense that she should tread carefully as to not frighten the girl off keeps her voice level and measured. “Or do you want to tell me more about Hyaline? You must know all the secret and scenic places.” Warlight moves closer and she takes it as an encouraging sign.
“No,” she answers immediately. “I would only tell her how brave and strong her daughter is.” Zosma smiles gently, though it looks more like threatening than anything as her fangs poke out of her lifted lips. She’d been raised among docile women, women who believed their place was firmly behind their man, existing only to raise his children. Fortunately her mother had instilled and fostered her ferocious independence. She told her many times to rise up and spread this strength to other females. She misses her fiercely now, thinking about mothers – she would love this sanctuary tucked away between the jagged mountains.
zosma
@[warlight]