a tornado of divine
Tonight, like so many other nights before, there is an electric weight to the silver moonlight shadows cast along the pathways of the court. Each fills her skin with a a hum and her sinew with a sigh. And perhaps had she not be so fresh from the pits, with her smears of warpaint running down her cheeks like tears and her body bruised like a pomegranate, she would have set to dancing between the rays of silver-light just to see what dark creatures might come forth to join her.
And perhaps had her magic not become a slumbering beast in her skin, she would have been glowing like a golden moon eager to tear the silver one out of the sky. But tonight, she is just a girl with her smeared war-paint, and her heavy wings, and her golden eyes looking at the world like a someday queen.
The steps upward towards the city fountain, and the succulent garden, feel almost hollow beneath her hooves. Everything thing always feels hollow after a night of fight, like the world is nothing more than a dream of peace in a world of violence, and survival, and thrill. She spreads her wings to find her balance against the hollow stones, and the electric air. She spreads them just to feel the cool air of a promised storm race through them like something wild and holy.
She remembers a story her mother told her, as she lowers her head to drink at the fountain. The memories are nothing more than scattered pieces of a story. But it's enough to make her close her eyes and float away on a storm cloud whispering a song to a dust storm. It is enough to make her skin start to glow again, faint as the lanterns hanging around her in a spiral.
It is enough to make her smile bright beneath her blood-paint tears when she hears the steps of another join her. Amaunet opens her eyes to catch the glare of moonlight on the mare's silver collar.
The pieces of the story start to shape themselves together.
“Hello Teiran.” Her smile is brighter than the moonlight, all bone-white teeth with the memory of spear-wood between them. It does not fade as she steps around the fountain towards the mare. And it does not fade as she rises her head so that they might greet each other like two lions on the golden-red sand dunes.
“Speaking.” @Teiran
And perhaps had her magic not become a slumbering beast in her skin, she would have been glowing like a golden moon eager to tear the silver one out of the sky. But tonight, she is just a girl with her smeared war-paint, and her heavy wings, and her golden eyes looking at the world like a someday queen.
The steps upward towards the city fountain, and the succulent garden, feel almost hollow beneath her hooves. Everything thing always feels hollow after a night of fight, like the world is nothing more than a dream of peace in a world of violence, and survival, and thrill. She spreads her wings to find her balance against the hollow stones, and the electric air. She spreads them just to feel the cool air of a promised storm race through them like something wild and holy.
She remembers a story her mother told her, as she lowers her head to drink at the fountain. The memories are nothing more than scattered pieces of a story. But it's enough to make her close her eyes and float away on a storm cloud whispering a song to a dust storm. It is enough to make her skin start to glow again, faint as the lanterns hanging around her in a spiral.
It is enough to make her smile bright beneath her blood-paint tears when she hears the steps of another join her. Amaunet opens her eyes to catch the glare of moonlight on the mare's silver collar.
The pieces of the story start to shape themselves together.
“Hello Teiran.” Her smile is brighter than the moonlight, all bone-white teeth with the memory of spear-wood between them. It does not fade as she steps around the fountain towards the mare. And it does not fade as she rises her head so that they might greet each other like two lions on the golden-red sand dunes.
