the rain that falls upon your skin
it's closer than my hands have been
Lepis shifts her weight, crushing some of the fallen pine debris as she does, and sending a fresh waft of the sharp sap scent into the air. It’s a calming smell, one that reminds her of Celina and Elio and happy memories, and the dun mare takes a deep breath that she is slow to exhale. Why now, she had asked, and Ilma answers ‘several reasons’. The one that she mentions - the only one - is enough. The magic of Beqanna is a fickle thing; it twists and shapes itself into a myriad of gifts both visible and hidden. That precognition is one of these manifestations does not truly surprise her, nor does the fact that it is possessed by someone who would use it to stop wars. Fitting, given the Balance that the fairies seem to want in their world, but the realization of what exactly Ilma might have seen does give the winged mare pause.
She wants to be friends because she can see the future. Has she seen them becoming friends, then? Lepis wonders, and the idea is not so far-fetched, but it seems an odd sort of way to start such a claim. No, she thinks, Ilma would not have mentioned the war, the war in which Lepis took no part save her birthing of the only child who perished in it. Lepis’ involvement in the war had been limited to her futile efforts to free a screaming Tiercel from the thorny wall, and frantic pacing when neither she nor Starsin had been able to free their sons. The Comtesse crushes the pine again, and breathes deeply, the polite smile on her face never wavering as the white mare continues to speak.
Yet when Ilma speaks of important decisions to be made, Lepis frowns. It is a small thing, just enough that Ilma will notice. A sign that Lepis cannot hide her emotions, or so it must seem. The Comtesse, having lain down this one metaphorical card, holds the others tightly as Ilma meets her eye. There are a great many decisions to be made in the coming days, and until the unexpected arrival of this visitor, the dun mare had been under the impression that they were hers to make. She is not dissuaded of that belief by Ilma’s offer – she assumes that it is an offer – but she does not reach for it with open arms.
“And as a friend you would…what?” She asks, answering her own question with no real pause for Ilma to do so. “Advise me on these decisions?” The frown on her face has been smoothed away, but there remains just enough doubt her tone that she sounds as if she is unsure.
The value of precognition is readily apparent, there is no denying that. Knowing what she does of Ilma, Lepis doubts that the other mare would outright lie to her about what she sees (or doesn’t see), and yet she also knows enough, and has enough history of their own, that she suspects the white mare might be selective in what she shares, and in doing so attempt to lead to the future she thinks best. There is a reason that Lepis does not share her innermost thoughts with outsiders, after all, an that is because they often refuse to see things the right way: her way.
@[Ilma]
lepis, comtesse of taiga
queen of loess | queen of sylva | queen of the south
lover of wolfbane | mother of pteron, marni, tiercal, eyas, gale, celina, and elio
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