10-19-2019, 12:10 AM
Below them, the redwood forest stretches like an emerald carpet. Far in the distance, she can see the changes in color that indicate the borders of the rest of Beqanna. There are the peaks of Hyaline’s mountans, then the hazy hills of Loess. She looks most briefly at the autumnal edge of Sylva, moving her gaze toward the smoking sky of Tephra. Then there is the wide stretch of sea, and just before she knows she will see the edges of the Isle, her husband apologizes.
Lepis does’nt look at him – instead rolling her wings so she might move higher above the feathered creature beside her – and squints her eyes against the bright glare of the sun. Though it will soon be gone behind too-distant sea, it is far brighter at this altitude than it had been on the beach, shielded by layers of fog and cloud. He apologizes, and though she is satisfied by it, that satisfaction is mingled as much with guilt as it is relief.
Admitting that she is wrong is an almost tangible pain for the pegasus mare. The symptom of a lavish childhood, most likely, compounded by her ability, her history, and an inherited sense of general superiority. The dun mare has admitted mistakes fewer times than she has borne children, and there is no question in her mind which were the worst experiences.
Some things are worth the pain though. Wolfbane has always been one of them.
“I’m sorry too.” The words are clipped, but there is no doubt that she means them, not with how rare they are. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, about this being my home, and not ours.” There. That’s over. They’re even again – at least regarding the topic of their personal lives.
Covering the topic of politics takes some time, but as the mismatched-but-winged creatures climb ever higher, Lepis tells him of the changes. First of the envoys that have been sent – Aten and Izora Lethia to the Island Resort, her own meeting with Jesper, the fresh agreement with Ischia, and her conversation with Castile before meeting with Heartfire. She tells him of the newcomers to the Taiga, both children born and adults recruited, and of Celina’s recent habit of waking her baby brother up by sending lightning bugs up his nose.
“She didn’t threaten war. Her threat was personal. She lectured me about not asking her permission before taking Taiga, about how I couldn’t really want peace, about how our violent deposition of Aten meant I couldn’t be trusted.” Lepis lists off her transgressions (according to Heartfire, though the scorn in her voice is all but dripping by the time she mentions the champagne Champion, who walked away with a new title and nary a scratch). “And then she threatened me.”
The dun mare halts her ascent then, turns back in the sky on agile wings till she can look at the creature in front of her with unblinking eyes that seems as steely as the sea below, and finishes: “It turns out that you and your grandmother share the same delusion: that there is no me without you, that I have only made it this far because of you.” The world at large seems to think she is incapable of novel action, they think that she is here because Castile sent her, or because Wolfbane suggested they move, or because anyone but Lepis herself made a decision and followed through.
“I’ve not got a pair of horns, or fire-breathing, or the ability to pop out a pair of talons at will,” she tells him, the examples of physical strength that are so vital in the jockeying for power and influence. “But I’ll not have you forget that I am perfectly capable of defending myself.” Fear, just strong and brief enough for him to be certain it’s her; an emotion so very different than any she more frequently wields.
“I will always want you beside me, husband of mine.” She says. “But I won’t have anyone, least of you, ever doubt that I’ll win any war that I deign enter. I showed you, once, when Arthas first made you king, what my abilities were.” Years its been now, the much better part of a decade. “Did you think you were the only one who might grow more skilled with time?” Lepis cannot grow herself a peacock’s tail or a cape of feathers, but there is no need for her to demonstrate physical prowess, not when she can slam an intangible wave of desperationhopelessnessinferiorityterror at him strong enough to flip him head over tailfeathers and send him hurtling toward the ground as fast as he can to literally bash the thoughts out of his head.
She lets off after a count of five, knowing that they’ve climbed high enough that any loss of altitude would be easily recovered. Lepis remains still, borne by rising thermals and her outstretched wings. The Comtesse watches the creature below her with a determined set of her navy mouth that says now they are even on the topic of their political life as well.
@[Wolfbane]
Lepis does’nt look at him – instead rolling her wings so she might move higher above the feathered creature beside her – and squints her eyes against the bright glare of the sun. Though it will soon be gone behind too-distant sea, it is far brighter at this altitude than it had been on the beach, shielded by layers of fog and cloud. He apologizes, and though she is satisfied by it, that satisfaction is mingled as much with guilt as it is relief.
Admitting that she is wrong is an almost tangible pain for the pegasus mare. The symptom of a lavish childhood, most likely, compounded by her ability, her history, and an inherited sense of general superiority. The dun mare has admitted mistakes fewer times than she has borne children, and there is no question in her mind which were the worst experiences.
Some things are worth the pain though. Wolfbane has always been one of them.
“I’m sorry too.” The words are clipped, but there is no doubt that she means them, not with how rare they are. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, about this being my home, and not ours.” There. That’s over. They’re even again – at least regarding the topic of their personal lives.
Covering the topic of politics takes some time, but as the mismatched-but-winged creatures climb ever higher, Lepis tells him of the changes. First of the envoys that have been sent – Aten and Izora Lethia to the Island Resort, her own meeting with Jesper, the fresh agreement with Ischia, and her conversation with Castile before meeting with Heartfire. She tells him of the newcomers to the Taiga, both children born and adults recruited, and of Celina’s recent habit of waking her baby brother up by sending lightning bugs up his nose.
“She didn’t threaten war. Her threat was personal. She lectured me about not asking her permission before taking Taiga, about how I couldn’t really want peace, about how our violent deposition of Aten meant I couldn’t be trusted.” Lepis lists off her transgressions (according to Heartfire, though the scorn in her voice is all but dripping by the time she mentions the champagne Champion, who walked away with a new title and nary a scratch). “And then she threatened me.”
The dun mare halts her ascent then, turns back in the sky on agile wings till she can look at the creature in front of her with unblinking eyes that seems as steely as the sea below, and finishes: “It turns out that you and your grandmother share the same delusion: that there is no me without you, that I have only made it this far because of you.” The world at large seems to think she is incapable of novel action, they think that she is here because Castile sent her, or because Wolfbane suggested they move, or because anyone but Lepis herself made a decision and followed through.
“I’ve not got a pair of horns, or fire-breathing, or the ability to pop out a pair of talons at will,” she tells him, the examples of physical strength that are so vital in the jockeying for power and influence. “But I’ll not have you forget that I am perfectly capable of defending myself.” Fear, just strong and brief enough for him to be certain it’s her; an emotion so very different than any she more frequently wields.
“I will always want you beside me, husband of mine.” She says. “But I won’t have anyone, least of you, ever doubt that I’ll win any war that I deign enter. I showed you, once, when Arthas first made you king, what my abilities were.” Years its been now, the much better part of a decade. “Did you think you were the only one who might grow more skilled with time?” Lepis cannot grow herself a peacock’s tail or a cape of feathers, but there is no need for her to demonstrate physical prowess, not when she can slam an intangible wave of desperationhopelessnessinferiorityterror at him strong enough to flip him head over tailfeathers and send him hurtling toward the ground as fast as he can to literally bash the thoughts out of his head.
She lets off after a count of five, knowing that they’ve climbed high enough that any loss of altitude would be easily recovered. Lepis remains still, borne by rising thermals and her outstretched wings. The Comtesse watches the creature below her with a determined set of her navy mouth that says now they are even on the topic of their political life as well.
@[Wolfbane]
