03-07-2021, 09:50 PM
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<div class="basic_message"><font color="#84a6cc">It is Wishbone her muted gaze finds first and the Guardian is glad to see her friend here. There was something about the Tephran mare that reminded Lilliana about the poems and stories of her youth, golden ages filled with heroes who created epics filled with good deeds and overcame impossible obstacles. What they are about to undertake certainly feels that way to the chestnut. Her blue eyes glance around the group - lingering too long on Reave and then Amarine huddled with her granddaughters - before they meet with Leilan.
Her small smile lifts a little, an unspoken apology between them. She can see what he wishes despite the dark and if they had a moment to speak privately, she would have asked him if he blamed her? Didn't he feel the pull of that same plea, just as she had? Just as so much of their family had? It is the only thought that brings her any sense of peace as she stands there, looking at her youngest child.
There are others here that Lilliana recognizes. There is angelic Ryatah who seems to carry a thousand worries with each step towards a hollowed stallion despite her familiar glow. There is Flower, another Tephran neighbor like Wishbone. But there isn't long to reflect on who is here because they finally emerge, the ones who made the call, and the flame-marked mare looks up into the face of a celestial creature. She has never seen any Fae before and even as tired as they appear, the beings before the gathered are the most beautiful equids she has ever seen.
There isn't time for awe, though.
Not when they speak of the monsters and what they are. They are pieces of fragmented souls, torn apart in the torment of Death and twisted into something else entirely. Lilliana listens quietly, remembering the monster that had roamed the Taigan woods and the way that it had seemed to feed off her own emotions and memories. There is a way to release them, the Faeries explain and release the tortured things. Perhaps there is a chance for them to find peace and rest in another realm, some part of her hopes. <i>Away</i> from Beqanna.
The names spoken are what grabs her attention and her expression sharpens, listening to three that are painfully familiar to the crimson mare. Craft and Anatomy (<i>and Lilliana remembers Craft, the way she had offered her life to save the palomino woman against the shifting desert sands</i>). She remembers that last moment as they stood at the opening of the Portal that had brought them to Beqanna and saying, <i>'I can't promise you that everything will be okay.'</i> But Anatomy had been on the other side and for a time, the magical pair had been under the protection of Taiga. The flame marking on her right shoulder almost itches, prickles at the remembrance of that past endeavor.
Straia invokes images - powerful memories - of that same forest burning, of Nerine being blasted.
Fueled by those memories, the Taigan steps forward and dips her head respectfully to both Fae.
<b>"Craft and Anatomy helped keep Taiga safe,"</b> the chestnut explains briefly. There is a moment where she pauses and looks to Leilan who has gone to stand with those who will distract, not far from where her yearling son stands. <i>Look after Reave,</i> she asks the Freyr silently. Amarine has gathered with them as well and Lilliana trusts the bay to look after the Northerners (at least as much as he can, given their circumstances). Death has evaded Lilliana - it came for Brazen and supposedly Neverwhere - but the chestnut mare holds a calm face for her granddaughters who she senses nearby. Memorie who speaks so confidently and Cheri who is so quick to offer her healing; there is a strong surge of pride burning bright in her chest for the pair. Something that helps dull the ache of worry and fear for her family.
<b>"I would like the chance to repay them that kindness."</b>
(<i>A thousand worries press against her mind and she has to push them all away.</i>)
<b>"Rescue."</b> She says and moves to join the smaller group.<br>
<div style="width:480px;height:1px;background:#fff;margin-top:0" align=left></div><p align=right><img src="https://img.nickpic.host/3Slkzp.png" width="10%" style="float:right;padding:0px"><i>Remember when our songs were just like prayers
Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?<br></i></div>
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<div class="basic_container">
<div class="basic_message"><font color="#84a6cc">It is Wishbone her muted gaze finds first and the Guardian is glad to see her friend here. There was something about the Tephran mare that reminded Lilliana about the poems and stories of her youth, golden ages filled with heroes who created epics filled with good deeds and overcame impossible obstacles. What they are about to undertake certainly feels that way to the chestnut. Her blue eyes glance around the group - lingering too long on Reave and then Amarine huddled with her granddaughters - before they meet with Leilan.
Her small smile lifts a little, an unspoken apology between them. She can see what he wishes despite the dark and if they had a moment to speak privately, she would have asked him if he blamed her? Didn't he feel the pull of that same plea, just as she had? Just as so much of their family had? It is the only thought that brings her any sense of peace as she stands there, looking at her youngest child.
There are others here that Lilliana recognizes. There is angelic Ryatah who seems to carry a thousand worries with each step towards a hollowed stallion despite her familiar glow. There is Flower, another Tephran neighbor like Wishbone. But there isn't long to reflect on who is here because they finally emerge, the ones who made the call, and the flame-marked mare looks up into the face of a celestial creature. She has never seen any Fae before and even as tired as they appear, the beings before the gathered are the most beautiful equids she has ever seen.
There isn't time for awe, though.
Not when they speak of the monsters and what they are. They are pieces of fragmented souls, torn apart in the torment of Death and twisted into something else entirely. Lilliana listens quietly, remembering the monster that had roamed the Taigan woods and the way that it had seemed to feed off her own emotions and memories. There is a way to release them, the Faeries explain and release the tortured things. Perhaps there is a chance for them to find peace and rest in another realm, some part of her hopes. <i>Away</i> from Beqanna.
The names spoken are what grabs her attention and her expression sharpens, listening to three that are painfully familiar to the crimson mare. Craft and Anatomy (<i>and Lilliana remembers Craft, the way she had offered her life to save the palomino woman against the shifting desert sands</i>). She remembers that last moment as they stood at the opening of the Portal that had brought them to Beqanna and saying, <i>'I can't promise you that everything will be okay.'</i> But Anatomy had been on the other side and for a time, the magical pair had been under the protection of Taiga. The flame marking on her right shoulder almost itches, prickles at the remembrance of that past endeavor.
Straia invokes images - powerful memories - of that same forest burning, of Nerine being blasted.
Fueled by those memories, the Taigan steps forward and dips her head respectfully to both Fae.
<b>"Craft and Anatomy helped keep Taiga safe,"</b> the chestnut explains briefly. There is a moment where she pauses and looks to Leilan who has gone to stand with those who will distract, not far from where her yearling son stands. <i>Look after Reave,</i> she asks the Freyr silently. Amarine has gathered with them as well and Lilliana trusts the bay to look after the Northerners (at least as much as he can, given their circumstances). Death has evaded Lilliana - it came for Brazen and supposedly Neverwhere - but the chestnut mare holds a calm face for her granddaughters who she senses nearby. Memorie who speaks so confidently and Cheri who is so quick to offer her healing; there is a strong surge of pride burning bright in her chest for the pair. Something that helps dull the ache of worry and fear for her family.
<b>"I would like the chance to repay them that kindness."</b>
(<i>A thousand worries press against her mind and she has to push them all away.</i>)
<b>"Rescue."</b> She says and moves to join the smaller group.<br>
<div style="width:480px;height:1px;background:#fff;margin-top:0" align=left></div><p align=right><img src="https://img.nickpic.host/3Slkzp.png" width="10%" style="float:right;padding:0px"><i>Remember when our songs were just like prayers
Like gospel hymns that you caught in the air?<br></i></div>
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but it's all in the past, love
it's all gone with the wind