Israfel
She loved Terrastella.
It was beautiful. The view from the Court citadel was breathtaking. On one side was the ocean, vast and brilliant and gorgeous beyond all words. She could spend hours upon the cliff sides, soaring among the gulls and the sea breeze, kicking and playing within the ocean water. On the other was the vibrant green grass plains, endless and positively a thrill to sprint upon. It reminded her so much of the World’s Edge, of her long-lost homeland, and it ached… But slowly that familiar ache was lessening, a scab as opposed to a raw, open wound. One day it would scar. Israfel just wasn’t sure if she was ready for that moment or not.
So while she found Terrastella beautiful, her adoration of the land she had called home ended where the Tinea Swamp began.
She did not love it. Quite the opposite, actually. Israfel wasn’t sure if she had ever loathed a piece of land as much as she detested the bog.
It stank. It was humid. Everything felt wet and soggy and moist and it was everything that she hated about a place. The Daughter of the Sun did everything in her power to avoid the place like the plague. It was a blight upon Terrastella’s beauty and she rarely ventured there, save for whenever it was necessary. Like right now.
Patrols were both a beacon of pride and a bane of her existence, and since no one else felt it obligatory to patrol the Swamp, it left her to the task. It was the same way she had stumbled upon Diarmuid and had brought him home, sloshing and slopping his way through the peat moss and ruin. This was no different.
“…. Fuck” she moaned, the curse falling in a forlorn groan from rose-kissed lips, “Why do I volunteer for this?” Because she desperately wanted to make a name for herself among the Dusk Court. She desperately wanted to prove her worth, not wanting to throw away her shot. Sooner or later, someone would take notice, right? Even if it meant doing all of the grunt work, like patrolling the fucking Tinea Swamp, where no one would probably plan an ambush anyway because you could hardly breathe from the stink and the air. Every family had its ugly duckling, of course. The swamp just happened to be Terrastella’s.
Wading through the muck and the filth, ignoring the shit-brown sod clung to the Sun Daughter’s ivory coat, vermilion eyes narrowed as she hauled herself through the water. It was difficult to remain upon the high ground when everything was wet. One wrong move and the earth would give out from beneath careless hooves, sinking and sucking until you were stuck. It was nasty and ugly and, well… You got the point.
Just as it had with Diarmuid, her patrol through the swamp did not go as planned. Another could be seen, filthy and caked in muck and grime from the sullied water. Israfel did not recognize him, nor could she place his scent. After all, the only thing she could rightfully smell was peat moss, stagnant water, and decay. His mane is thick and long, overgrown, from the looks of it. Through her years, Israfel has seen many an oddities, both in this life and her previous one, so staring at this stranger now, she couldn’t help but feel familiar with his differences. She remembered, albeit barely, Osiris, the wolf-equine hybrid that had haunted the misty trees of the World’s Edge. There had been many others like him; hybrids of all sorts, oddities that hadn’t quite ‘fit in’ with societies little niche of ’perfection’. This man did not appear to be hybridized from anything. He was simply unique, and that, instantaneously, rid Israfel of her loathing in regards to the swamp and instead drew her closer, curiosity peaked.
He moved at an uncertain, gangly pace, as though in pain. Had something happened? Was he injured? Dragging herself to the nearest high ground, hooves sinking slightly into peat moss and moist soil, Israfel called out to him. The sound of her voice carried easily through the humid air, cutting through the short distance between them. “The Swamp is hardly a place to wander,” she called in greeting, vermilion depths sparking and fierce, but not maliciously, “Are you alright?” Lost, perhaps? Who was he? She couldn’t recall seeing him before…
It was beautiful. The view from the Court citadel was breathtaking. On one side was the ocean, vast and brilliant and gorgeous beyond all words. She could spend hours upon the cliff sides, soaring among the gulls and the sea breeze, kicking and playing within the ocean water. On the other was the vibrant green grass plains, endless and positively a thrill to sprint upon. It reminded her so much of the World’s Edge, of her long-lost homeland, and it ached… But slowly that familiar ache was lessening, a scab as opposed to a raw, open wound. One day it would scar. Israfel just wasn’t sure if she was ready for that moment or not.
So while she found Terrastella beautiful, her adoration of the land she had called home ended where the Tinea Swamp began.
She did not love it. Quite the opposite, actually. Israfel wasn’t sure if she had ever loathed a piece of land as much as she detested the bog.
It stank. It was humid. Everything felt wet and soggy and moist and it was everything that she hated about a place. The Daughter of the Sun did everything in her power to avoid the place like the plague. It was a blight upon Terrastella’s beauty and she rarely ventured there, save for whenever it was necessary. Like right now.
Patrols were both a beacon of pride and a bane of her existence, and since no one else felt it obligatory to patrol the Swamp, it left her to the task. It was the same way she had stumbled upon Diarmuid and had brought him home, sloshing and slopping his way through the peat moss and ruin. This was no different.
“…. Fuck” she moaned, the curse falling in a forlorn groan from rose-kissed lips, “Why do I volunteer for this?” Because she desperately wanted to make a name for herself among the Dusk Court. She desperately wanted to prove her worth, not wanting to throw away her shot. Sooner or later, someone would take notice, right? Even if it meant doing all of the grunt work, like patrolling the fucking Tinea Swamp, where no one would probably plan an ambush anyway because you could hardly breathe from the stink and the air. Every family had its ugly duckling, of course. The swamp just happened to be Terrastella’s.
Wading through the muck and the filth, ignoring the shit-brown sod clung to the Sun Daughter’s ivory coat, vermilion eyes narrowed as she hauled herself through the water. It was difficult to remain upon the high ground when everything was wet. One wrong move and the earth would give out from beneath careless hooves, sinking and sucking until you were stuck. It was nasty and ugly and, well… You got the point.
Just as it had with Diarmuid, her patrol through the swamp did not go as planned. Another could be seen, filthy and caked in muck and grime from the sullied water. Israfel did not recognize him, nor could she place his scent. After all, the only thing she could rightfully smell was peat moss, stagnant water, and decay. His mane is thick and long, overgrown, from the looks of it. Through her years, Israfel has seen many an oddities, both in this life and her previous one, so staring at this stranger now, she couldn’t help but feel familiar with his differences. She remembered, albeit barely, Osiris, the wolf-equine hybrid that had haunted the misty trees of the World’s Edge. There had been many others like him; hybrids of all sorts, oddities that hadn’t quite ‘fit in’ with societies little niche of ’perfection’. This man did not appear to be hybridized from anything. He was simply unique, and that, instantaneously, rid Israfel of her loathing in regards to the swamp and instead drew her closer, curiosity peaked.
He moved at an uncertain, gangly pace, as though in pain. Had something happened? Was he injured? Dragging herself to the nearest high ground, hooves sinking slightly into peat moss and moist soil, Israfel called out to him. The sound of her voice carried easily through the humid air, cutting through the short distance between them. “The Swamp is hardly a place to wander,” she called in greeting, vermilion depths sparking and fierce, but not maliciously, “Are you alright?” Lost, perhaps? Who was he? She couldn’t recall seeing him before…
@Auru
