lepis, comtesse of taiga
RUN AND TELL ALL OF THE ANGELS; THIS COULD TAKE ALL NIGHT
i think i need a devil to help me get things right Castile accepts her stipulation, and the pegasus’ dark mouth curls up in a smile. It fades though, fades and quite quickly, and his next query.
“We argued.” She admits. The words had been easier than she had anticipated. “I said things I should not have. Did things.” Those are much harder, and understandably bitten off. Her blue-grey gaze is far more iron than sky today, and the holes she might bore with them in the fallen trunk at which she glares would put termites to shame. Starsin had said to admit mistakes, and yet Lepis feels no better than a moment ago. Perhaps it matters with whom she shares them. The ears that had heard an adult Lepis admit flaws are inexplicably few; Castile would not have heard many even when she was a child. Heda never made her apologize for her words or actions, and treated her daughter as though she could do no wrong.
To have admitted mistakes and not had it count is frustrating, and Lepis grinds one hoof into the loam beneath her. It gives too readily to truly ease her irritation, and remains in her words when she adds: “And now, now he’s listening to me and giving me the space I told him I wanted.” Her teeth grate with her voiced grievance, the tone of her voice utterly at odds with what she has to say. “How am I supposed to say I’m sorry if I can’t even find his stupid shifting self?!” Lepis isn’t shouting, but it is a close call. The earth beneath her pawing hoof resembles premium-grade finely-ground compost. Her immediate plan upon leaving Starsin had been to hunt down her husband and force him to admit what he had done. She has since reasoned that it would be better if she apologizes first. Once she does that, then they will see. They will see.
Lepis has never sought relationship advice from either of the adults who raised her. Her mother had given plenty without asking of course, most of it directly responsible for the tangle of her youth. But Castile had never been attached, not permanently. Not until recently, at least, and asking about them now feels like prying.
“I will find him,” she reassures them both. “I will find him, and speak with him about your offer, and I will come home to tell you my answer.” her voice grows more firm as she continues, more measured as she reigns in the frustration of moments earlier. Her displays of temper are rare, but they are equally short-lived. Thinking of other things, the dun mare is able to reach out and press her shoulder against his hug. A familial embrace, as is the removal of a bit of twig from his mane. She notices something different about him standing this close, but there are so many other somethings she thinks of that she brushes it away.
@[Castile]
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