 | | Skegg\uc0\u491 ld, Sk\'e1lm\u491 ld, Skildir ro Klofnir | What's a girl to do when her family scatters to the wind?
Regroup, she supposes. With the current changes in the kingdom she at least has some direction - right? There are changes coming, surely? She's still so young and naive enough to believe that a new face with the same crown might bring about some change. She hasn't been jaded time and time again like the others have. With her father gone she has no one to consult on these matters.
She wanders the Valley then, deep in thought, mulling over the conversations from the day before. That's when she feels the slightest change in the air, the littlest prick of dew, the smallest of changes - Eight. Covet taught her to always be aware of her surroundings.
"Eight," she says to the air, knowing he is close. "What do you think?" | | Thorunn | | immortal, mind-reading immune daughter of Covet and Librette |
 no matter what they say, I am still the king Thorunn had stayed. When all others had left, tasting the ash of the Valley in their mouth, Thourunn had weathered on. Perhaps it was because she had no where to go – the Valley had been the only home she had. Perhaps it was that the memory of her parents held her down tight- a child made of love from the Valley, with parents long gone. Eight wasn’t sure, and didn’t have the pressure to prod into that mind of hers. But he watched – from far away and long gone, the copper filly trailed through his mind, and he made sure that no harm nor foul became her.
And now- here they were, years later – a new king upon the throne and a new dawn to rise. Right? Something new would rise? It always does, doesn’t it – a changing of the guard, a passing of the crown – new things always happened quickly once a new ruler arrived. Maybe this time, they wouldn’t die down.
Eight had positioned himself next to the copper child during Demian’s arrival – there was some kind of comradery there, perhaps. Maybe an inkling inside Eight to pull the child in, to protect what was left of her childhood. Or perhaps there was just the comforting silence between them of people and places that they had lost.
Her small voice quivers in the air, carrying across the Valley to where he stood, watching the commotion of change with stoic eyes.
They had never talked before, not really – anyway. And yet there was an easiness that Eight felt between them.
“Thorunn.” He speaks to her mind – while he may not have the key to the gates, he can still send dove-like messages to her. He makes his way towards her, disappearing among the throng of dark trees, and reappearing steps away from her. “Well, it’s gotta be better than what this old bag of bones was doing, right?” He settles in step beside her. “There are new faces, which is good. But I’m not sure for how long they’ll stay, or what he’s got in store.” He looks down beside him, catching her eye - “And what do you think?”
∞ and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
| | Skegg\uc0\u491 ld, Sk\'e1lm\u491 ld, Skildir ro Klofnir | What does she think?
She'd spent the better part of her childhood as a mirror of her father. She picked apart his mannerism, his quiet ways, his decisions. She tried to be the pentultimate portrayal of him. What she failed to realize is that Covet became that way from decades upon decades (centuries!) of hardship and trial and error. She wouldn't have recognized her father as a young man, a new king, even a king a second time over. She wouldn't recognize the friendships he forged or the love he had for others that were not her mother.
What DID she think?
The question catches her off guard and turns her silent and mulling, thinking. Why did she feel such an ease with Eight? Their paths were rarely crossed, and tracing his lineage would only find old friendships made not of blood. His father and her great grand mother were dear friends - until he raped her. Thorunn knows nothing of this, and it doesn't explain the easy air between them.
"I don't know," she says at long last, the emotions playing across her face. No one needs mind reading to see them. "I suppose it's about time I make my own decisions," she admits. | | Thorunn | | immortal, mind-reading immune daughter of Covet and Librette |
no matter what they say, I am still the king
It is often easy to forget that children are so young. Especially those in Beqanna. It was a rare occurrence that a child maintained such young, easy going mannerisms in this world wrought with strife. And you, Thorunn, are no different. The world had aged you in such a brief moment in time – the death of your parents, the death of your home, and ultimately the death of your own personality. You strove to be like Covet – the representation of a man so far known. It was easy to forget that once, he too was young and sprite – a soul that had known no loss, no trials, no errors in his life. So quick you were to imitate the cold and stoic man that he was now. But little did you know that once, he too, was a clean slate.
Your emotions read like a paperback, whirring across the lines of your face, the pools of your eyes - no, Eight didn’t even need to pry (as if he could). It was easy for him to forget that were so young, your pensive and resigned nature showed otherwise. And yet, it was as if light went on in the attic – a reading of determination (perhaps?) spread across your features – a resignation to finally stepping into your own.
“Perhaps it is.” He agrees with a slow nod. “And your first decision – is to stay, I hope?” He looks down towards you once again. True, the Valley was the only place you had known as home, the only safe harbor in shipwrecked seas. But you had the chance, the option to go – to forge a new path, one that your mother and father had not.
But there was that invisible red thread – that tie that bound you two, the feeling of easiness around you – that had Eight beckon you to stay home. ∞ and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
thorrun;  She follows Eight's gaze over the expanse of the Valley. This is all she knew. Her sister, dear Val and her outgoing ways, parted with the Valley with much less fanfare than had been expected. The ache left behind by her departure is almost as strong as the loss of both their parents. In her short life the orange-eyed girl had been abandoned by everyone she loved and held dear. It's no wonder she mirrored Covet's general melancholy - that was to be expected. She can feel the pinprick of tears behind those orange eyes and wills them away, covering her sniffle by rubbing her face on a foreleg. She hopes Eight doesn't notice.
"Yes, I will stay. I want to stay." She knows her father was a transient beast and ruled in two kingdoms that were not the Valley. Her mother...she looks to the Heart Tree that gave birth to her mom a second time. She sits at it sometimes, wondering if it will spit out the chestnut mare that she looks so much like. She knows deep down it will never happen. Could she survive with the tree so far out of sight? No, no she couldn't.
She turns her eyes to the horizon then, and to Eight fleetingly. "I guess this means things will change then." It's a fact, a statement. A final conclusion that the world changes every day and holding onto the past and hoping it will stay the same is futile. She'll learn.
She's learning.
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