04-22-2018, 03:14 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-22-2018, 03:14 PM by Amorette.)
With the meeting concluded, it is time to silently slip away. Not to leave Tephra, she hopes to not have to leave the volcanic land in quite some time. She honestly cannot say that the lockdown is a bad thing. The reason behind it is, but it makes perfect sense that Warrick is doing anything he can to keep Tephra safe. He hasn’t failed Tephra. Not like Amore did herself.
The guilt is enough reason for her to slip away quietly. She knows she has been seen – it hadn’t been her goal to hide herself after all – but knowing that Warrick’s words must cause some havoc, the ebony woman is pretty sure that nobody would notice her leave. Why would they? She’s just one of the many faces, and a lot of those who had been gathered don’t even know her. And so Amorette slips away, absolutely certain that she has some time for herself. Time she should use to figure out how, and when, to approach Warrick. That much she owes him.
Her legs carry her to the beach. Not the place where she usually was to be found, but perhaps that is why she favours it over her previous favourite places. What could she say? The sounds of crashing waves and seagulls calms her, strangely enough, and the soft breeze is just a pleasure to enjoy. That nobody would think to come and find her here is just a complimentary effect.
Amorette ends up on the beach, ankle deep in the sea, as the waves gently roll over them. This time it isn’t to sooth aching joints, but to simply enjoy. No one needs an excuse to enjoy one of the many pleasures in life.
@[wound]
| W ith the tension lingering above their heads, Wound had felt worry gnaw at her stomach when she hadn’t been able to find Amorette. Although she’d only ever spoken individually with the dark mare once, the diplomat had seen how close she’d been to Warrick. Anything that strikes up stress within her Overseer thereby strikes up stress for Wound — not because her emotions are so severely tied to Warrick, but because the things he worries about are valid.
However, Amorette’s late appearance to the meeting brought about a swirl of mingled emotions, both positive and negative. She had made a mental note to reconnect with her fellow diplomat soon. She does find Amorette standing ankle-deep in the sea — not unlike their original encounter when the dark mare had been swollen with pregnancy. Wound briefly wonders after her friend’s child, a silent lightning bolt of dread dragging through her stomach. Had that been the reason Amorette had retired into such deep corners no one could trace her?
Wound clears her throat as she approaches from Amorette’s right hip, allowing an audible sigh to leave her throat as the waves roll over her feet. Although autumn has arrived, the waters are still exceptionally warm. “Amorette.” Her greeting is soft against the hush of the tides but it isn’t harsh. “It’s good to see you again.”
She doesn’t ask the most obvious question, sure that her friend will answer it if she feels comfortable enough.
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credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Amorette]
She takes no pride in the way she had left Warrick to fend on his own, and her self-grudge had only grown once she had learned about all the things that had happened during her absence. Three, out of the six, Beqannan kingdoms had a change of leader, of which one of them problematic and the other two could proof themselves to be just as dangerous. They hadn’t stolen just one, not two, but as much as three of Tephra’s habitants. It was no wonder that Warrick had placed Tephra, and her habitants, on lockdown.
Amorette had not expected anyone to really notice her, let alone to follow her once she had taken her leave. Clearly she hadn’t kept to herself enough, or perhaps Wound is as observing as you’d expect of the Head of Peace. Her right ear turns into Wound’s direction, followed by a dark eye as Amore slightly bends her neck to glance back across her shoulder, then dips her head in a silent greeting, acknowledging the friend’s presence.
Her gaze, after quickly looking Wound over to make sure the greying silverbay mare is okay, is quick to move away again. She is unable to look at Wound’s features for more than a few seconds, afraid of what she would see, or what Wound would read on Amore’s own face. For a while the silence stretches, and although it is all but comfortable, the ebony woman does not know what to say. There are so many things she does want to say, from apologizing to telling her own struggles to discussing the recent happenings. But instead of any of that, a more simple question slips past her lips.
“How are you, … Wound?”
@[wound]
Sorry for the wait <3
| T here are many things happening for them to worry over. The dramatic, rapid-fire shifts of leadership among kingdoms have shifted the underground plates of Beqanna’s political earth. Shifting plates normally lead to natural disasters — earthquakes and volcanic explosions and tsunamis — and, while this is all theoretical and symbolic, Wound finds herself waiting with bated breath for everything to explode.
She takes peace in knowing Amorette appears to be okay, at least physically. If her friend had been sick, Wound doesn’t find any signs of it now. She can only wonder why the hardworking mare had taken to corners of the world the rest were ignorant of. Those thoughts press on her mind as she looks over the dark plane of Amorette’s face.
The light breeze tugs on Wound’s silver-ombre mane as they stand in silence. The rhythm of the waves upon the shore and the haunting cry of a single seagull are the only songs sung between Wound’s words and whatever should follow, but the silver bay mare isn’t discontent. She is fine to stand with her heels slowly sinking into the sand while the warmth of the ocean tosses brine and seafoam against her skin.
Finally, there is a break in their silence. A tender smile finds Wound’s petite face. It’s a question asked among friends and the Head of Peace considers the dark mare just that — a friend. “Wishbone left in the summer for Nerine… I miss her with every bone in my body, but I know she’s having the time of her life there.” It could be a good thing, Nerine’s kingdom being so far away. If her daughter had only been in Ischia or even Loess it would be much more difficult for the silvery mare to stay away from visiting. “The fall season always gives me baby-fever,” she admits aloud. A piece of her wonders if Amorette feels the same way, and she fondly smiles again at the memory of standing on a shore similar to this one when her friend’s belly had been swollen with pregnancy.
“But I’ve been keeping busy to keep both missing Wishbone and wanting more children out of my mind.” Her coffee brown eyes turn away from the distant horizon and back to Amorette’s face. “I’ve missed you, Amorette. We all have.” At least the ones who knew her before she disappeared. There are so many new members to Tephra, it’s taking her quite some time to get around and greet them all.
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credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Amorette]
She is grateful. Wound speaks easily, tells her some of the pleasurable things that have happened. It comes to a surprise to the ebony woman that there also had been good things she has missed, but she is not less glad about it. And with this, she can relate. “I’m sure she will make you, and Tephra, proud” she tells her friend with an encouraging smile, and she surprises herself that she even reaches out to lightly touch Wound’s shoulder in silent support. She knows how heart it is for a mother’s heart to be away from her child. And in her case she had only herself to blame.
The truth in Wound’s words make Amorette chuckle lightly, but she isn’t sure if the sound sounds joyful or heart-wrenching. She nods nonetheless, her gaze directed at the horizon again, because looking at Wound is too painful. And she, still, is afraid of what she would see. “You are a great mother, you’ve done wonderful with Wishbone..” It is not a lie, but Amore’s heart hurts at the truth that she cannot say the same about herself. The pause in their conversation is awkward, at least to Amore, as she can’t speak for Wound.
It stretches longer after Wound is finished speaking. Somewhere along the lines Amore’s eyes had closed, and the ebony woman does all she can to keep her breathing calm and easy, though she feels the tears ready to be spilled again. “I’m sorry.. Wound.. I’m so, so sorry..” For not being here. For abandoning Tephra. For failing everyone. For everything in general. But then, much softer, but genuine, as her voice reveals the tears that are on the edge of falling. “I.. I have missed you too. And everybody else.”
Slowly her eyes open, and before she even knows it her dark eyes are searching Wound’s gaze. Her lips are drawn in a thin line, her eyes glazed over by unshed tears. “I’ve been such a fool..” she admits, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe it herself. “Stupid enough to let a man rule my mind, and heart.”
@[wound]
| W ound’s heart aches for her friend. She doesn’t know why Amorette had abandoned Tephra (and by the sound of it, her son as well), but she’s certain it was for good reason. If not, there must be a reasonable explanation. Wound doesn’t fault her friend for being a neglectful mother; perhaps if she didn’t know the true and good heart Amorette has, she might’ve been more upset.
So when Amorette acknowledges Wound’s parenting skills but falls silent, the silver bay steps closer to touch her nose to her friend’s dark shoulder. She’s silent for a moment, compassion swallowing her heart whole, but before Amorette speaks again, the diplomat speaks. “Being a mother is difficult, Amorette. If your son hates you for doing the best you can, he’ll realize his mistakes when he grows up.” Wishbone had certainly screamed her hatred in her mother’s face several times — mostly because Wound wouldn’t let her swim or run or try to jump off a cliff. Yet it is a mother’s job to forgive and forget and love through it all.
But then the smoky mare’s grief is spilling from her mouth and Wound presses her face closer to her friend in sympathy. She turns her head to stare into the depths of the ocean, offering her shoulder as a source of comfort and a cloth to dry tears upon. “Hush, my sweet friend.” As surprising as it might be, Wound’s voice is gentler than it has been in the past. “All is forgiven. I’m just glad you’re safe.”
Their eyes meet, on that autumn beach with the waves washing over their feet and the wind tousling their locks, and Wound’s gaze is heavy with sympathy and forgiveness. Amorette reveals the truth behind her absence and the silver bay huffs a warm breath over her dark nose in comfort. “Men will be the end of us,” she jokes aloud. They — or rather, the lack of them — will be the death of her through the weapon of loneliness. “They can be handsome and sweet-talking and then turn around in the next breath.” She’s seen it in the depths of the forests, watching between the tangle of her brothers legs. “I don’t fault you, Amorette. Do you plan to stay in Tephra, now that you’re back?”
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credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Amorette]
A soft, trembling sight escapes past her lips when Wound’s nose gently touches her shoulder. Grateful – both for the gesture and the fact that Wound isn’t too upset with her – she leans into it, her weight shifting ever so slightly as the waves still roll against their legs. Soft sobs escape past her lips, and all she can do is cry and shake her head. She had failed Byrne, and it is his good right to blame her for it. “I failed him..” she murmurs, leaning heavily into Wound’s shoulder now as her cheek is pressed against the bay mare’s neck.
“I.. I failed you all..” Failed myself. It adds to her grief, but saying the words out loud helps. It opens the floodgates, but all the says she no longer carries upon her shoulders. And Wound, as a true friend, forgives her. Amorette feels pressured by it, knowing she has wronged her friend, and yet is so easily forgiven. However, that does not mean she is not glad for it. “Th-thank you..” she manages to get out in between her sobs.
Wounds words hold a bitter truth to them. Though her friend brings it as a joke, they both knows it is more than just that. She reaches out, offering her silver bay friend her dark nose in silent support. “The devil itself..” she murmurs, a half smile tugging on the corners of her lips through her tears. Amore then sighs, and shakes her head, to glance at the horizon again. Her muzzle soon finds Wound’s skin again, secretly leaning on the mare’s presence more than she should. But right now, Amore is weak, and Wound has become her rock in this wild world.
“I am staying..” It is an easy question to answer. Her heart skips a small beat, and she relaxes ever so slightly. “Tephra is my home.. I want to be here.” Even if he is here. Her gaze searches Wound’s again, stomach tightening in a way that is not good. For a moment Amore studies the fellow diplomat. “He.. He is back too..”
Not that it is a secret who Byrne’s father is. His flaming crest and tail are a clear sign of his linage.
@[wound]
| D espite the power of words, touch holds its own special control. Wound’s known the voice of touch even in the days of her youth, spent among the decomposing leaves and slender shoulders of her brothers. In the silence of the abandoned forests, sometimes a day would go by where no words were uttered aloud, but the band of siblings still communicated. Simple touches on the shoulder, nose-to-nose contact, light huffs of air across baby-fuzz — the quiet of the forests would absorb the thoughts of their minds and silence the sound of their mouths.
So she accepts Amorette’s shoulder with a compassionate heart, content to whisper a warm breath of comfort against her friend’s neck. They are two women — two mothers — standing on the shore of their home with the waves tossing against their feet and the heaviness of life upon their hearts. Wound listens quietly to the dark mare’s admissions, including the announcement of her stay at Tephra, with a tender expression on her silver face.
“I’m glad to know you’re going to stay,” she says. Her voice is soft and quiet, the tune of a mother’s lullaby against her child’s young ears. Although she has no reason to tend to Amorette in this way, her empathetic soul longs to comfort until the tears have dried. Her stomach drops when the mentioning of Byrne’s father comes about. She doesn’t know of the man very well — Levi’s abandonment of Tephra happened not long after her own arrival — but she’s heard of the fire-slathered stallion.
A soft sigh leaves Wound’s lungs, pushing the tension away from her chest and out into the warm air. “Don’t worry, Amorette. I will always be here for you, no matter what.” Although those words have been empty promises on many lips, they are as true as the stars in the sky upon her own. She touches her mouth again to her friend’s neck, a platonic kiss from silver lips to dark crest. And so they stand, two mothers with waves against their feet and heaviness — but also warmth for the future — upon their hearts.
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credit to nat of adoxography.
@[Amorette]
Not just two women, or simply two mothers, they are two friends standing side by side on Tephra’s blackened shore. Usually supportive of one another, but today one being a rock for the other. Amorette is more than grateful that Wound offers herself up like that, not knowing when she might be able to return to favour. Now, she does not know that she would sooner rather than later, in a situation darker than she would ever have been able to imagine.
The soft words make her smile through her tears, and Amore’s muzzle finds the silvery bay’s cheek as a silent thank you. She does want to stay, and she does want to be strong for Tephra. The volcanic land is her beloved home, and the goodness in her heart drives her to selfishly give herself to the kingdom. Like that, she also blames herself for being weak. “I’m home..” she says softly, again with a small smile. She wouldn’t want to deny Levi his home either, Tephra is for all who need her. But that does not mean that his presence is easy.
Her gaze find the ocean again, and for the first time since her return Amorette can relax. Just a little, but it is a start. Her tears dry and her breath evens, and together with them some of the tension slips from her muscles. A good cry really does help. Leaning into Wound’s gentle touch, the friendly kiss on her crest, the ebony woman sighs softly. Lids close over wet eyes, and rolls her shoulders lightly.
“I know” she murmurs softly, the previous silence between them not uncomfortable. She knows Wound’s promise is not empty, she knows she can rely on the silver woman. “It is the same for me..” she says, eyes opening to find Wound’s gaze. “Being here for you, I mean.” Because what are friends if you would not be able to rely on one another? These things don’t only go in one way, it is something mutual, and it will always find its balance again.
“Thank you.”
@[wound]
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