08-14-2015, 07:58 AM
Yael doesn’t sleep much on these soul-soothing summer nights. They remind her too much of evenings with Vanquish, when they would cuddle up together beneath a vast, starlit sky and talk until the horizon faded to a light purple. So on silent wings, the golden mare takes the sky, flying over a (mostly) quiet land by the light of a full moon. The moon whispers in her ear, murmuring about the mysteries of the world. She listens, smiling ever so slightly, but pays it no mind. She knows of the miracles and wonders that happen far beyond their reach, she’s floated amongst the stars and swam in the darkest corners of the earth. Morphine prepared her heir well.
Out of curiosity, she heads for the Field. It’s been several years since her last visit, and though their has been a peculiar influx of newcomers, she has yet to see any of them come to the Desert. They were growing lax in their two-magician safety net; comfortable in the knowledge of their powers and isolated by the sands. Yael knows. It is easy to forget the rest of the world exists.
Tonight - however - tonight, the world is as transfixing as it’s ever been,
With as much sound as a bat, Yael touches down in the field, what light there is glinting of the metallic sheen of her skin, feathers and hair. Gold and silver, she could be made of metal if she were not so warm to the touch, as if she held the Desert’s heat forever inside her. Most are sleeping or occupied with children, so she leaves them alone, wandering quietly amongst the herdless. But one is awake - and so the Ambassador approaches from the left, a soft and gentle smile on her lips. Though many foreigners come through her, she has yet to find anyone of her ilk, none that speak her birth language, or Beqanna’s tongue with her peculiar lilt. Some part of her suspects that she never will, for they are an insular, tribal people who travel as one. They could not survive without the tribe. Except for Yael - Yael survives.
“Xello…” she says quietly, greeting the dappled stranger.” Beautiful night, ees eet not?”
Out of curiosity, she heads for the Field. It’s been several years since her last visit, and though their has been a peculiar influx of newcomers, she has yet to see any of them come to the Desert. They were growing lax in their two-magician safety net; comfortable in the knowledge of their powers and isolated by the sands. Yael knows. It is easy to forget the rest of the world exists.
Tonight - however - tonight, the world is as transfixing as it’s ever been,
With as much sound as a bat, Yael touches down in the field, what light there is glinting of the metallic sheen of her skin, feathers and hair. Gold and silver, she could be made of metal if she were not so warm to the touch, as if she held the Desert’s heat forever inside her. Most are sleeping or occupied with children, so she leaves them alone, wandering quietly amongst the herdless. But one is awake - and so the Ambassador approaches from the left, a soft and gentle smile on her lips. Though many foreigners come through her, she has yet to find anyone of her ilk, none that speak her birth language, or Beqanna’s tongue with her peculiar lilt. Some part of her suspects that she never will, for they are an insular, tribal people who travel as one. They could not survive without the tribe. Except for Yael - Yael survives.
“Xello…” she says quietly, greeting the dappled stranger.” Beautiful night, ees eet not?”
Yael, guardian of the desert