05-13-2018, 05:01 PM
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T hey meet so often upon the shore with the stars dancing above their heads. She’s beginning to wonder if it is just their time of day, a trademark upon their friendship, like some families have their thickets among the brush and some spiders have their favorite corners to weave their webs. It’s a warm thought, not entirely cast out from the happiness of her mind, and she reflects upon it as she approaches him from behind.They have come so far from their first encounter, Wound and Warrick. Her soul still clung to the shadows of the forest while his did not yet know of the king he would become. She had been timid to reveal herself to this island at that time, spending her days wading in the waves where her deformities could be hidden by the salty embrace of the sea. Little did that doe-eyed woman know of the courageous diplomat she would become. A smile finds her mouth as she comes to a halt beside Warrick. Her shoulder brushes his as she dips her nose down to touch the sea-froth riding on the quiet tide. The tang of salt and smoke in her nostrils is bitter but familiar, the beloved but not entirely appetizing cologne of home. Wound is quiet for several moments, allowing the peace of the twilight to absorb the unrest in the shadows of her heart. Finally, softly, she speaks. “Ischia is led by a good man.” She’s always considered herself a good judge of character and, even in the brief moments she had with Brennen, the new King seemed well-suited for his crown. “Brennen is his name. He reminds me of you, actually, though perhaps he’s a bit more military-like.” Those are some of her favorite qualities of Warrick — the pieces of him where a commanding behavior melts into warmth and sincerity. The night falls around them like a delicate blanket. Constellations twist above their heads, so numerous and dramatic that Wound can’t help but tip her chin back so her eyes can watch their splendor. She wonders of their daughter and how she must be faring in Nerine, but then forces herself to look back on her meeting in Ischia before tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “I warned them of Sylva’s growing presence. Brennen agreed that we’ll be friendly toward each other for now, as they have named Nerine their sister-kingdom.” Friends of friends, as Trekori had said. A soft smile finds the corners of her face as she thinks about the young stallion. He had seemed so full of life, a masculine (perhaps slightly less-enthusiastic) version of Wishbone. “I could see an alliance forming in the near future, especially if Sylva’s danger persists.” She is quiet then, content to listen to the waves lapping against their ankles and the nighttime cradle them in a warm, starry embrace. |
credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Warrick]