10-16-2021, 02:37 PM
At first, when she hears the call, Gilda lifts her head from quiet grazing thinking that it might be her father, but Dace disappeared into the shadows when Gale came with his nightmares and his claws and his teeth, and she has not seen him since. She does not want to believe he has fled, not when Isilya still stood strong against that darkness, not without telling her, but the other option then is that he has died, and that is not something she is willing to consider. The girl's thoughts brush deftly against that possibility and leap away like a stone skipping across still water. He's fine, just busy, she supposes.
And after all, she's more than old enough to be on her own. It's just that... she never has been. He'd always been there before, even if just on the periphery, always within reach. The wings that trace the ridges of her cheekbones droop slightly, giving away the uncertainty creeping through her chest, but there's none of it in her quick steps as she picks up a path to Savior's clearing in time for his proclamation. Golden ears tilt forward to catch his words but her eyes won't sit with him long, scanning the faces of those who have come to hear it for her father's boldly marked brow.
Not present.
Her heart sinks a little more, but she presses forward into the gathering. Perhaps they had all fallen short, huddling like children in Isilya's small island of safety while Gale hunted those who did not reach it. They might each have done more, if not against him directly, than to help one another to survive - or to escape.
Gilda had always known that running away was not for her. What were nightmares to a child born into the Eclipse? As her father had taught her, she'd sought out Isilya's tree and the calm that spread across the magician's roots and blossomed in her branches, but she never went out to find others, to find the ones who struggled and died in fear. How many might she have saved? Even one would have been a victory.
Pale wings tuck tight against the sides of her face as she nods mournfully along with Savior's words. It is not his failure, it belongs to all of them; none of them are free from the stain of Tephran blood.
And after all, she's more than old enough to be on her own. It's just that... she never has been. He'd always been there before, even if just on the periphery, always within reach. The wings that trace the ridges of her cheekbones droop slightly, giving away the uncertainty creeping through her chest, but there's none of it in her quick steps as she picks up a path to Savior's clearing in time for his proclamation. Golden ears tilt forward to catch his words but her eyes won't sit with him long, scanning the faces of those who have come to hear it for her father's boldly marked brow.
Not present.
Her heart sinks a little more, but she presses forward into the gathering. Perhaps they had all fallen short, huddling like children in Isilya's small island of safety while Gale hunted those who did not reach it. They might each have done more, if not against him directly, than to help one another to survive - or to escape.
Gilda had always known that running away was not for her. What were nightmares to a child born into the Eclipse? As her father had taught her, she'd sought out Isilya's tree and the calm that spread across the magician's roots and blossomed in her branches, but she never went out to find others, to find the ones who struggled and died in fear. How many might she have saved? Even one would have been a victory.
Pale wings tuck tight against the sides of her face as she nods mournfully along with Savior's words. It is not his failure, it belongs to all of them; none of them are free from the stain of Tephran blood.