TEMPEST CHILD,
SHE WHO SINGS TO THE NIGHT RAINS
Summer isn't summer without the smell of rain, as the Sun dipped low over the horizon, the very sky wept in relief. Fine drops made to mist manes and drip daintly from whiskers, the kind of rain one laid by the window and watched wistfully with soft eyes.
It curled ink and mist strands as Neha flew through the night, a star made of night, ivory and gypsy gold. A picture of Denocte's natural beautiful, fierce and beguiling, she is serene as she dipped and swirled through the clouds. An effortless dancer whose performed for those who kept their gazes skyward. Inside, her heart hammers, wildly it fluttered against her white boned breast as anticipation skittered down her spine. It branched, as the lightning forked in the heart of the storm, into her veins and energized her blood. This is a reunion she has longed for, after all, what is time between sisters but a promise of meeting again? A separation which allowed them to come together, stronger than before. She cannot keep the grin off of her pale maw as finally, finally, the Night Court's flickering fire light comes into focus. Warm and soft, illuminating the water which clung to stone and flora alike. She's in there, an excited part of her rasped. It has been too long, comes the next breath. She had missed her when the Crow King and the Maiden had visited, somewhere else, preoccupied with another task which had come at an inopportune moment. But there are no duties now, to keep them from this, and it took her all to keep herself together as her golden hooves reached out to touch damp stone. Neha alighted with all the grace of a warrior, precise as a dancer's toe upon the stage. Her wings folded anxiously to her sides as she hurried into the stone arch, her hair curled and clinging wetly to her neck and shoulders. Her gold glinted in the firelight, raindrops shimmering in the light's embrace as her own inferno gaze peered out. "Stormsinger?" She cannot contain the excited lilt to her accented voice now, as it echoed through the stone and wood, deeper and deeper into the Palace she drew. It is hard to keep the traditional face of a Rahliah born and raised a warrior, even if this one is the rain and wind made flesh and blood. In this moment she is a sister looking for a sister, cast to opposite ends through fate and destiny who have finally managed to find their way back to one another. "Aislinn?" AND OH THOSE NIGHT RAINS,
THEY SING SO SWEETLY IN THESE QUIET HOURS
OF GLORY WON AND LOST
OF LOVERS WHO WERE PROMISED STARS,
AND ALL THEY GOT WAS DUST |
