She was not surprised when the mare - the unicorn - came to find her as the cacophony of the summit fades like a dying chorus. What whims of fate could surprise her anymore, after the reunion with her lion-heart?
Some might assign such events to the gods, but in two worlds now she has seen their works, and if the rift lands had ever known a god it was now dead or mad. No - there was something more at work, and maybe it was blasphemous even to think it (so soon after breathing in once more the scent of Calliope, all black fire) but Shrike wondered if they were all slaves to fate. Even those that called kings to meetings, and trapped them in like lambs.
“They always do,” she said by way of answer, and drew her gaze from the friends in question. Shrike wore no smile, but the keen curiosity in her gaze and the wry tone of her voice was almost as good.
The both of them are coated in dust and sweat and the scent of the same, but the paint knew it was not the only thing that yoked them. When she closed her eyes she saw strange smooth-sided towers rising up from mist, and a lake like glass, and a burning golden gaze. When she opened her eyes, she met the gaze again.
“Gods have short memories,” she said, but there was no rebuke in her tone, only a weariness and an anger like a vein of iron, rust red. “But I hope there are many to remind them.” Her gaze, too, drifted then over the dwindling crowd, only looking back at the clash of iron on stone. This, at last, drew a sliver of smile along the line of her mouth.
Even so, she could only shake her head at the question. “I will wait and see what comes of this - and what Calliope and Raymond make of it, too. I have no claim in this world.” Her dark eye met the unicorn’s, and she lifted an oxblood brow. “I’m Shrike,” she added after a beat, and there was something almost reluctant in the giving of her name - as though in using it she was letting go of a little of the mystery, a little of the fate.
But for once in her life (perhaps a lingering effect of her lonely death, or something about the looks Calliope and Raymond shared, hot and pointed as a sword in the forge) she thought it wise to widen her circle of companions.
don't do much these days
keep the wolves at bay
keep the wolves at bay
@Indra
