Nightfall blanketed the skies as the deep indigo's created the perfect backdrop for the stars to dance across. A visual of raw beauty that the kirin was sure to never grow tired of especially given the ability for her to experience it in close proximity. The cooling air of the warm day caressed beneath the thin skin of tiring wings, rusty of long distance travel in the more recent of times. In the pale moonlight the obsidian tint of the God’s blessed creation shone — marking the end of a wart travelers journey. It is on a downward tilt of an umber head that pale rosette meets the icy chill of the dragon’s eyes; dark lips tilt upward mildly.
It is from a belly full of mirth that Tanith finds herself truly fighting back a fit of laughter as she descends; kohl lined eyes narrowing as she takes in the scenery. They sweep over the lack of activity and the razed ground beneath — withered away by dragon fire, it is a familiar sight. She has, after all, has done the same thing many times over. The singular difference is the mercy shown that the land outside the kingdom burned and the distinct taint of burnt flesh did not linger. It was a smell that clings to the air for days after, warning all of their impending fate should they misstep. That in itself sparks a curiosity borne from an immortally impish nature within her.
i wonder who´s upset him so, she muses out loud, voice low. There is a flick of her slender head, thick tresses cutting through the air, as her attention turns back to the observant guardian perched like a gargoyle on the edge of the world. There is no mistaking a dragon’s ire laying waste to the mortality of the world beneath it but she knows that this is entirely stemmed from Isorath‘s desires — for Gilgamesh is not Asharru who holds a little too much of Tiernar’s essence in her soul. The thought forces a longing look to be cast over her shoulder, in the direction of which she’s come from, knowing that the pale creature of lore is miles away; most likely just as agitated by their broken connection as she. A connection she knows has already informed the pale high prince of her presence.
The magic here is different. It is something tanith acknowledged the minute she crossed the threshold into these foreign lands. The blood in others does not sing to her, she does not feel their flow like the strings of a puppet. It is not the first time a new land has diminished her claim to her birthright and she knows that in due time the song of the blood will return to her borne anew. It has been a secret since the beginning of her days, the loss of it seems lackluster compared to the pang of loss of the kindred spirit of her bonded — the disconnect from her god. the hard muscle of her tounge presses into the soft flesh of her cheek as the thoughts dance from her mind forcing her back to the present (of her new reality) where she sits, in wait, lucky enough to have near infinite patience as she awaits the pale prince of vectaeryn´s arrival.
