[private] looks like we're in for nasty weather; anyone

[Lepis]

the rain that falls upon your skin it's closer than my hands have been Winter had been over-long, and was reluctant to release its grip on Taiga. Yet spring has come, with bright lines of new growth in the redwood canopy and the in bright faces of the crocuses and primrose blooming in the meadow. When it does, on the first morning that Lepis wakes and does not snuggle nearer to her nestmate for warmth, she knows that it is almost time. It is only Elio that is curled against her – Celina has taken to sleeping at her father’s side, Lepis can only assume. They had argued, bitterly, and Lepis has not been able to find her alone long enough to apologize for the way she had spoken. Each time she tries, Celina disappears into the trees, as adept at vanishing into the woods as her invisible siblings. The dun mare extracts herself from the well-feathered nest, pressing a fond kiss to her son’ sleep-damp forehead. Each morning he is just a little bigger, a little older, a little closer to fledging. In truth, he might have left the nest already, but she is guilty of keeping him a little longer, of prolonging the inevitable separation of child from mother. She won’t keep him too long, she has promised herself, not so long that it might damage him, but she does circle back before leaving the nest one last time. She wraps him beneath her neck with a deep inhale, and presses her golden cheek against his striped neck one final time before leaving the nest. She had told someone once that her children are her world, and despite the shift in every other part of her world, that hasn’t changed. It is almost time, time to give an answer to Castile. Almost, but not quite. Lepis rarely rushes to decisions, but this one has taken longer than any other. It has taken some time for her to admit to herself the reason for the delay – well, the reasons. For five years Loess has been entirely out of reach, yet now the dragon presents it to her on a platter. And yet, she knows that reaching for the crown requires releasing her grip on Taiga and everything that remains here. It is not the land itself – dark, foggy, trees prohibitive to flight – that holds her, and nor is it the relinquishing of power to someone else. Pteron would make a good ruler, she knows, at least once he has settled down and married. Yet even that, which she had once been so sure of, is laced with doubt. Will marriage really make him happy? It’s certainly only brought her pain, at least in the ending. Her breath hitches; she swallows a sob. Lepis is walking through the woods, and she will not do so with tears on her face, not when there is no telling who she might find around the next bend in the path. Instead, her blazed face smooths into the flawless mask she so often wears, and she shakes out the elbow-long tresses of her navy mane. She’d let Elio braid them into a single plait before bed last night (the concentration and patience it requires is good for him) and even as she shakes it loose, Lepis knows it still falls on the left side of her neck. The right side is bare, and as if summoned by the realization a spring breeze blows across it, brushing cool fingers across the myriad of scars. 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