It was strange how much of life was dependent on each respective deity, and how the mindset about each deity was one of absolution.
The sun could rise, yes, Oriens made sure to wrench it from slumber each day, wresting the magnificent star from it’s bed beyond the eastern horizon. From there, he shuttled that unwieldy orb across the heavens - but only to a certain point. At that moment, when the last drop of dawn gave way to daylight proper, Orien’s brother-god would heft the unwieldy disc from the Dawn’s back and carry it on to evening.
So, too, was Vespera’s assistance a necessary ingredient to the lives of mortals, for who else could be trusted with the care of the weakening sun? The brothers, for all their immortal wisdom and might, didn’t contain the gentle, matronly touch that was gifted by the Healer of the cosmos. For millennia, those first three had worked together to shepherd the grand burning globe that was Novus’ sun back and forth across rainbow skies. Even the outcast sister, the half-blood Caligo, played her part in preserving the movement of time and nature.
Yet, the mortal children of timeless beings still bickered and spat over their preferred god-sibling, heralding whichever was better or more important to the survival of equine kind. It seems that they would never learn, no matter the tomes and scrolls preaching the values of unity and the chaos of a nation divided, mortals were too arrogant and too petty to listen to the past.
It seemed to Llewelyn that they were all doomed. She scoffed, what a joke.
Not that anything truly mattered in the long term, she supposed, and proceeded to mentally wash herself of the thoughts; shaking them away like so many flies.
Regardless of the populace’s — or even her own — opinions on religion, she presented the image of a proper little lady; pious and devout in her faith, even when her faith was chosen for her before birth.
It was that same faith that had landed the mare in her current location; Illuster Meadows provided the easiest footing and quickest route through Delumine to the cathedral housed upon Veneror Peak, and Llewelyn had never been one for anything but easy footing.
Moving through the meadow, it’s flora slumbering beneath a generous blanket of snow, the maiden made sure to make her way along the path carved by the hooves of those before her - she was intelligent, but she was no ranger, and could easily find herself lost within the porcelain expanse. Sound seemed muffled within the snow, and the light crunching of her hooves and the soft huff puff of her breath were her only companions. Pursing her lips, the Lady found herself momentarily grateful for the plush emerald cloak cushioning her skin against the cold.
She wasn’t grateful for the maid that had brought it to her before she left and insisted that the scribe wear it, mind you; no, that was the servant’s job, why would she be thankful for something that could be expected? Indeed, Llewelyn was a busy mare, she had better things to do than prostrate herself in thanks for some lowly maid; she saw that the girl was fed, wasn’t that enough?
Heavily tressed tail undulating behind her, strands held carefully above the snow, Llewelyn continued her travels as if it were nothing more than a spring stroll, effortlessly effortless in her pursuit of elegance.
@ any of Snell’s babies
