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If the world were ending, Cress would not be standing around having a moral dilemma about whether or not it would be proper etiquette to go around and tell everyone. No, Cress would be the thinker; the one to try and find a solution, the one who would try to figure what was causing the end of the world so that she could put a stop to it. She would gather the resources she would need and she would do her very best to try and put a halt to the end of the world. The end might be something that is fated to happen, but Cress would do her damnedest to avoid that fate.
Much like anyone else, of course Cress would tell someone. Who wouldn’t? But not for the reason that you’d think—no, Cress wouldn’t confide in someone about the world ending because she wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of it alone. Cress would go to someone with power (a magician, perhaps, though she’s heard that they can be fickle and cruel), someone who could help. Only being a healer doesn’t lend Cress much power of her own, only the power to stop the aches and pains after they have already happened.
And maybe, just maybe, there is a bit of selfishness there. Maybe Cress wouldn’t know how to handle something like the knowledge that the world was coming to an end. Maybe that knowledge would be best left in someone else’s hands.
Cress is a nobody. Once upon a time, she could’ve been somebody; the daughter of a King and the pride and joy of a former Queen. Cress, too, is very young. She is on the cusp of womanhood (okay, maybe she was thrust upon it several years ago and she’s trying very, very hard to ignore the fact that she’s an adult) and she is perhaps the opposite of the quiet colt standing alone in the Meadow. She will be the first to admit that she is incredibly lonely but she doesn’t crave attention like he does.
She, like him, spends most of her time within the confines of the Meadow, though she is shy and prefers lurking over actually conversing with others. It is actually quite by coincidence that they have not stumbled across one another yet in their random wanderings of the neutral grounds. He is here to escape his responsibilities, and she is here because she has none.
She was destined for greatness, but her parents failed her.
She does not blame them, though. She doesn’t even know if they are alive.
She is wandering alone when she hears a frustrated sigh and a slight crackle. What was that? Obviously the sigh—more of a huff, to be honest—came from another horse, but the crackle? She turns towards the sound, her pale hooves hardly making a sound as she spins expertly in a circle and then—crack. She looks down at the twig she’d snapped under her heavy (because nothing about the golden Warlander girl is dainty) hoof and sighs herself. So much for not startling whoever that is.
After a moment she continues her search and her gaze lands on a young stallion about her age. With a sheepish grin she trudges towards him, not bothering trying to be quiet anymore. “Sorry about that,” she says when she’s close enough for casual conversation. Suddenly shyness hits her like a bolt of lightning and she stops talking nearly as quickly as she’d started, unsure of what to say next.
“I, uh, I’m Cress,” she manages, speaking past the lump in her throat. Just Cress.
do you remember
when we learned how to fly?
SORRY IT'S CRAP ;^;