A child of the sun, prodigy crafted by Solis Himself, a lithe and serpentine specimen built to survive the harshest climates of Solterra. She is an oasis to a thirsty traveler, refined by the grit of sands that dance in the wind; a colorful cocktail of mexican red clay, the white-hot glare of the midday sun, and the black of an unfathomable desert sky at night. Her body is a treasure trove of culture and secrets, one who dances with the ghosts that haunt her, a wraith of summer heat and mirrored mirages. 

And even though she is as wild as mother nature herself, she is apprehensive of the ocean.

Fever stands a few yards back from the shore: sands stretch for endless measures behind her, the shade of a few palm trees her only refuge from the fat sun that burns in the sky. The expanse of water in front of her is a tropical shade of blue, the waves in the gentle tide sparkling like scattered diamonds while seafoam collects on the sand like a pearl necklace. 

Like all beautiful things, Fever is drawn to it. She is enamored with the way the shore pushes away the sea but always pulls her back in, like a forbidden dance between two lovers who were never meant to be. It demands her attention, the way a wild dancer would, beckons her in with a promise of cool relief for her hot skin. Yes, the ocean seduces Fever, but she cannot find the strength to ever meet her.

In the slave houses, her mates would speak of horror stories of those who had drown and how they would never be able to meet Solis in death. Just like being buried, drowning is not a noble death - there is no honor in having the ocean keep your body. 

Yet, there was once a time where she had promised a dear friend that they would one day play in the ocean together. 

But she had abandoned him, and she was certain he had moved on to frolic in the sea with someone else. Perhaps she would find his ghost in those waters - she could succumb and perhaps find him at the bottom of the ocean floor with open arms, a waltz awaiting her. Her mother could be down there as well, screaming out to Fever with a voice that would go unheard. How would Fever know she wasn't down there unless she looked?

An ache squeezes her heart in an invisible vice as she lays in the shade alone; the mare tries to distract her wandering mind by watching the water giggle at her, admiring the seductive ebb and flow of the tide, letting the tantalizing salt in the air try to tempt her into taking a step into the unknown.

Summer is dying - though the heat is still enjoyable in the desert, there is a shift in the gales that snake through the streets of Day Court. Cooler weather is on the cusp, though Solterra is not one for changes in the colors of the foliage or the intensity of the sun, but the days would begin to waste away and chasing daylight would become sport. 

This evening, as the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon, the last rays of light are staining the adobe courtyard of Solterra blood-red. Children are playing games in the long, ominous shadows cast by the clay homes of commoners. Elderly are sipping water like fine wine, some of them fanning themselves, while a guard or two stands post on every few street corners. 

A bleeding sunset reflects light of the metallic skin of a paint mare as she sinuously creeps through the streets. The jingling of bells on her thigh would always announce her arrival amongst her people. She forgets that she doesn't have to hide in the dark any longer, though the sight of citadel police would always cause her heart to climb into her throat. She can recall her days sneaking through the shadows, like a thief in the night, tip-toeing her way past nobles who lay in the streets drunk. And although she is still wary, still paranoid of the wrong people finding her, Fever sashays with a confidence as she moves amongst her kingdom. 

This is her kingdom. Her people. Her livelihood. 

Carefully, she makes her way into the alleys in an attempt to reach one of her favorite spots to watch the sunset. Once she is sure she is alone, her guard slips, and she takes a brief moment to rest against the cool clay of a building. Her shoulders are still blighted by the wounds she received while sparring in the colosseum. Though the scraping on the left shoulder-blade has begun to scab over, yet the bruising on her right side has blossomed into ghastly purple and blue shapes. It was painful to the touch, and whenever she wasn't fighting it, she would have an obvious limp. 

Fever sighs softly, in a bit of a blissful lull as she remembers fighting the stallion, craving that special breed of excitement that sparring brings. She wonders if Solis is pleased with who she has become: from house slave to battle-ready, from dragging chains to dancing and singing for her people, from ragged and emaciated to sharing her wealth with the children in the streets. 

Something suddenly catches her attention, and she is to believe she is no longer alone in the alleys. She pushes herself off the wall as to hide her weakness, put on a guise of attentiveness, and cranes her swan-like neck in curiosity - her golden and black eyes hungry to meet whoever has stumbled across her. 

@Swahili redemption thread <3

She planned on keeping herself busy. Small tasks, getting accustomed to the Dawn Court and all that it had to offer again. Years had passed after all. 

Today was the first day she had ventured close to the forest since Callynite had pulled her from her compulsive haze. She’d been staying aware, in fear that she’d get trapped within the confines of the trees once more with her mind’s prison insisting upon searching. 

One step. She takes a deep breath, ears perked at the sound of children scampering around. Two steps. Her eyes peer through the trees and into the clearing. Three steps. So many people. They’re going to ruin any traces!!!! She panics, slightly, feeling her heart beating out of her chest. Four steps. No. No. It’s fine. It’s fine. Traces have been long gone. It’s fine. Five steps. Her eyes zone in on Callynite who seems just as anxious as the mare was, though she was certain it was for far different reasons. 

Find other tasks. Fill your time with them instead. It will be okay. [say]”M’Lady, uhm... Callynite... Can I help?”[/say] Her speech is quite, and she’s surprised with the doe turns around relieved giving her a task to complete. Hide eggs in the Western side of the egg hunt. That she could do. Kindred nods her head before grabbing a basket and securing five eggs, the most comfortable number for her, and shuffled her way off toward the western part of the hunt.

One egg. She pushes through some of the brush, finding an abandoned nest. Carefully, she props it up on a few rocks and then places a few more stones inside that were about the same size as the eggs themselves. Then, she slides the egg in with them, partially covered by some of the rocks. Noticeable... but hidden at the same time.

Two eggs. This one she attempted to hide a little higher. In fact, she knew this tree well, she could see her scratch marks upon it from the searches she had done religiously. A small dip was in the bark of the tree, one that went far enough back to cradle an egg. Gently, she placed it there and covered it with a blanket of moss that trailed out of the hole. 

Three eggs. A different area, a little farther off the beaten path with quite a bit of brush built up near the trees. Kindred delicately placed this one in the nook between some of the sprouting roots that were shaded by tall brush, just barely noticeable. 

Four eggs. A rock jutted up off of the trail, to a dense section of branches, just barely within the short mare’s reach. After testing the sturdiness of the rock she eased the egg into the bed of branches and leaves before making her way back down.

Five eggs. A rabbit hole on her way back toward the main area grabs her eye. She places this one just inside of it on another bed of moss that trails out with a stone backing to keep it from tumbling further in.

[Say]”That should be good...”[/say] she whispers to the air, pressing her nose against her pendant as if Wren were there to approve of her completion. Then, she makes her way back to Cally, depositing the basket near the others again.

[say]”You should be good, m’lady...”[/say] she says, a gentle smile on her face as she fights the urge to start searching once more for her sister.

@Callynite

Rosemary stared at the paper lying atop the wooden shelf before her, her mouth slightly agape and her worrisome green eyes distant. A crude writing instrument turned slowly, indecisively, in the air beside the waiting page, held aloft by her telekinetic gift with such a strong inattention it was a wonder the item hadn't clattered to the floor of the Library yet. The look upon the grey mare's face was full of uncertainty, of doubt and second guessing, and she could feel it constricting her chest, tightening her breath, filling her with a foreboding sense of dread.

Why did she have this thought? Why had it occurred to her that, upon realizing the Dawn Court possessed a need for merchants and traders, she thought to take up the occupation herself? She wasn't the least bit qualified, hadn't any mercantile knowledge or experience in trade of any kind; most of her knowledge was tied up in etiquette and basic lessons one might impart to a child, all of which had come in handy once upon a time when her title had been something along the lines of "governess." Here, however, there was less need for such a role, less room for her to make herself useful with those outdated skills, and by Oriens, she needed to be useful.

Closing her eyes, Rosemary forced a shaky breath into her lungs and released it with painstaking slowness. [say]Calm yourself, Rosemary.[/say] There was no sense getting so worked up over this. It was just another lesson for her to learn, something new she could later teach to another and continue the passage of knowledge down the line. First, she needed to become a master herself, and honestly what better place to begin than Dawn's famed Library? Making herself open her eyes, she glanced over one shoulder at the nearest book-laden shelves, taking comfort in their presence, their tangible lessons and impactful information that would no doubt prove a boon to this newest endeavor. [say]You are not alone in this. You have the scholars of the ages at your back. They will guide you.[/say]

She took comfort from the inwardly directed pep talk, and her wary expression took on a resigned resolution, steeling herself for this uncharacteristic--and frankly ill-conceived--venture she had set herself on. [say]"First things first,"[/say] she murmured to herself, her tone surprisingly measured despite the lingering nerves rippling beneath her surface, [say]"do your research."[/say] With a look, one of the tomes on the shelving rose and floated over toward her, settling itself gently atop the shelf beside the paper. It wasn't a direct instructional manual on how to operate or build a successful franchise from the ground up, but it did document one that had come before her, a piece of their history from which she could glean valuable insight.

Already she was flipping through it, skimming pages for key words, indicative phrases, pieces of the text that would act as a springboard for her plans. [say]"Here we go..."[/say] Something clicked, beginning to take shape in her mind, and her green eyes focused with a keener interest upon the page. The book settled as she delved into the text, and the writing instrument lifted almost in the same moment, making notations on the blank paper of those most important bits that Rosemary planned to put into practice as soon as she felt confident enough. But only when she felt confident enough.