she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees
try her boy but she'll still do what she please
She is a creature defined by her nature, by the fortitude and ferocity she displays in every step and word: in every actions she carries out; but even when she allows a softer side to show, there is a certain sharpness to it that is composed of perception and empathy. This awareness bleeds into her when she takes a breath, when Aysel relaxes and allows her mind to pushback against all the thoughts of strife, of challenge. More so as she stares at her child, watches and studies the spotty girl and her wobbly legs: the bouncy playfulness and freedom of childhood naivety. An ear flicks and she considers her grown son and his life as a colt, she thinks of the rigorous tests and challenges she gave to him… the endless expectation and intolerance of his failure; but those were mistakes of a younger woman, a less patient and more ferocious one.
Aysel, has grown. Instead she takes a breath and listens, brushes the fluffy and wispy mane her daughter has before watching her carry on and prowl about as if her legs had been hers for a thousand years. “It is hers, much like the legacy of her bloodline.” she states plainly, but softly. Her gaze on Magnus is not harsh nor cold, there is something appreciative and calm- a tranquility she presents in her older days… one developed from time and experience. The tugging is something that provokes her to sigh, to stare- and to listen with amusement while she considers the reality he presents and the ones they live in. Still, she is aware of the finality- of a promise and compliment in one.
“That may be so, but, I suppose it is my nature to be prepared: or at least to begin securing preparations and carrying on with work… no matter the world and its state.” she shrugs, impassively and mulling over it and the thoughts she has. “I will try to relax for now, after all, it will be there: waiting.”
In the moment she is not unaware of his his posture changes, how the child parroting her words prompts a response; but there is a slight train of thought she develops in all this- consideration of Magnus and of the her world. Aysel is quiet for a few seconds, allowing the filly to continue speaking and shouting words- playfully dancing around the large figure of her father with careless exuberance. It’s in these observations she finds herself mulling over the past and all the word, the present and its dangers; but more so the man at her side and she considers their words and passions: all the things said between them.
Sobered, but gentle, she moves to stand beside him and to speak, calm and subtly lined with affection and curiosity. “We do that, make promises: to do better, to always try. Soldiers often find themselves in that position when coming back to life, to family… sometimes it means we were not always our best. It is part of who we are: failures, and victories in all arenas. Step one is promise, now you simply have to carry it out, but- I cannot say I know your secrets nor your personal failings: I can only say that, trust you-me…”
Aysel pauses to think, to consider how she wishes to word this. “My shoulders are strong, and if you wish it: yours to borrow- the same with my ears. I make no demands that I be the only creature in your life; but I do demand that I and Segolene are in it… since you are in ours now. I support you, always, and I trust you- I just hope that you can trust me.” conflict is a strange feeling, and she looks to the spindly child rolling in the grass.
@[magnus]