when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
The soaring, muted grey eagle hasn’t thought about his extended family in quite some time.
Why would he? The finality of helping to murder his own sire seemed enough reason to bury past transgressions and leave the dead sleeping where they lie, but his reasoning had been wrong. If he had killed for good, truly for good, then it would mean involving everyone who deserved or wanted to know. With an angry pump of his wings, Wyrm just wishes there hadn’t been so many to try and track down. What use had it been for his father to copulate so often and so recklessly? A selfish man with selfish desires, that’s what he pins it down to. He’ll never have the chance to truly know now, anyways.
He knew of four offspring, himself included. His twin, Kudu, had long since disappeared again. Umqra had been predicted to show in the Chamber as a filly long ago, but she’d been a bust. So the weight of his ancestors practice had been dumped unceremoniously on Circinae’s shoulders and, after all these years, it was her that Wyrm had sought out. That meeting had gone rather … awkwardly, but in the end she’d agreed to meet him near the heart of the Riverlands, where the earth curved away from the incessant beating of the sea.
It was there that he began his descent, gliding over the whitecaps of the turbulent water before reaching out with sharp talons to grip a wet, cold branch in a quick landing. He preens, fully expecting to be ahead of his half-siblings arrival by hours, and when he turns a wide eye back to the land beneath him he finds (with mild surprise) that the river has opened its gaping mouth into a whirlpool. Up from the swirling depths rises Circinae, a bit wet but as graceful as one could manage in a situation like her own, her colored hooves steadily dipping into the pebbled shore.
Wyrm descends, shifts, and lands abruptly before her with a skittish halt. “Water manipulation?” He presses curiously, only to be chided by a sour look from his younger half-sister. “Teleportation.” She corrects sharply, putting an end to their warm introductions. Wyrm appreciates it.
“Lupei is dead.” The wolfkin tells her, that sacred name echoing through the sparse trunks around them.
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
@[holli]