07-19-2017, 09:32 PM
There are worse things to find in a forest, he says.
“Are there?” she replies with a smile.
It’s a soft smile, nothing malevolent or untoward. She does not look frightening, she knows, not even with her puzzlingly patterned coat. She is small and pretty and laboring beneath an impressively pregnant belly; she’s no more terrifying than an emerald deer would be. Beqanna is full of oddities; Djinni is just another in an endless line.
For a creature as self-absorbed as she is, the thought is infuriating.
It doesn’t show on her face. Nothing shows on her face anymore, not since her pledge of loyalty.
She only flicks her brown ears forward from the tangle of black mane. Offspring of Tephra. King of Tephra, if Warrick is to be believed. Djinni had rather liked the star-hearted young stallion, and she is inclined to believe him, even if she’d not heard the words directly from the horse’s mouth.
In an instant, the brown mare reflects back on their conversation prior to this admission. He’d been polite, but not overly apologetic. Fitting for a king, she thinks, though perhaps standards have changed. She’s never quite sure of herself in this new Beqanna with its new lands. She still dreams of the tall pines of the Chamber and the windswept canyons of the Desert. There is nothing like that here anymore. Perhaps there is no one like the kings she’d known anymore.
Here there is only Nayl and the Tephran Wolf King; now that Magnus no longer rules the volcanic Tephra, Djinni knows very few of the monarchs of this realm. Her parents would be ashamed, she thinks as she watches the moonlight play across the thick scars of her companion’s side. She should be better informed.
“Djinni,” she tells him. “From Sylva.”
And then, because she is equal parts curiosity and a genuine attempt at politeness: “What keeps you out so late?”
“Are there?” she replies with a smile.
It’s a soft smile, nothing malevolent or untoward. She does not look frightening, she knows, not even with her puzzlingly patterned coat. She is small and pretty and laboring beneath an impressively pregnant belly; she’s no more terrifying than an emerald deer would be. Beqanna is full of oddities; Djinni is just another in an endless line.
For a creature as self-absorbed as she is, the thought is infuriating.
It doesn’t show on her face. Nothing shows on her face anymore, not since her pledge of loyalty.
She only flicks her brown ears forward from the tangle of black mane. Offspring of Tephra. King of Tephra, if Warrick is to be believed. Djinni had rather liked the star-hearted young stallion, and she is inclined to believe him, even if she’d not heard the words directly from the horse’s mouth.
In an instant, the brown mare reflects back on their conversation prior to this admission. He’d been polite, but not overly apologetic. Fitting for a king, she thinks, though perhaps standards have changed. She’s never quite sure of herself in this new Beqanna with its new lands. She still dreams of the tall pines of the Chamber and the windswept canyons of the Desert. There is nothing like that here anymore. Perhaps there is no one like the kings she’d known anymore.
Here there is only Nayl and the Tephran Wolf King; now that Magnus no longer rules the volcanic Tephra, Djinni knows very few of the monarchs of this realm. Her parents would be ashamed, she thinks as she watches the moonlight play across the thick scars of her companion’s side. She should be better informed.
“Djinni,” she tells him. “From Sylva.”
And then, because she is equal parts curiosity and a genuine attempt at politeness: “What keeps you out so late?”
D J I N N I
genie | rose gold tobiano dun | trickster