[AW] we'll be nothing but dust

[Seraphina]

I'M READY FOR THE FIGHT & FATE

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The low hum of the wind brushing through the thick, desaturated strands of dry grass that blanketed the Eluetheria Plain in brilliant gold during the day was the only sound that occupied the hazy silence of midnight; on occasion, she heard the beat of quick little wings as a bird or a bat passed overhead, a tiny speck of black that looped and twirled against a starlit sky, or the rustle of some small, unseen creature passing alongside her in the grasses, brushing against the brittle, choppy grasses on their way back to their burrows, or out to hunt for other nightfarers. The air was hot and muggy and wet, oversaturated and ready to break. Seraphina expected that the Plain would experience a rather lengthy shower come tomorrow afternoon, perhaps a bit of creeping mist on the small streams and ponds that dotted the flat, featureless landscape – scarcely disturbed by a substantial tree or stone. It was a different sort of heat and a different sort of solitude and a different sort of heat from what she was accustomed to, though. Solterra was dry and empty. Eluetheria was full – overflowing with life, a dam about to burst – and wet. The heat was sticky here, though not unpleasant; nor was it unpleasant to be surrounded by living things, rather than endless sand and skeletons. For all her love (was it that?) for her desert homelands, Seraphina was so preoccupied with her work that she never felt very relaxed whilst wandering the sands. Though she’d been trained to find potential threats wherever she went, she found it much easier to relax and breathe on those relatively rare occasions she fled the sands. This was one such occasion. Her mane, otherwise kept perpetually in a half-braid, hung loosely at the side of her neck, lengthy forelock tumbling down her muzzle. The combat she wore like a second skin was, for the time being, peeled away.

Glittering golden lights danced alongside her, stretched out in midair as far as the eye could see. Fireflies. Occasionally one would light on her silver coat, a small dollop of sunlight that clung to her skin before, with the tiniest twitch, it was gone again. For her part, Seraphina was looking up. Her mismatched eyes scrawled along the star-filled sky, seeking out the familiar shapes of constellations and celestial bodies – in the desert, they were the best and simplest form of navigation, and she’d been subject to rigorous lessons on their particular designs throughout the year as a foal. She traced Solis – strange that the God of Day would find his likeness in the night sky, wasn’t it? – and Caligo, Vespera and Oriens, Tempus - and then Fiens, the greatest of the sandwyrms, and Malora, the huntress who slayed him, the beautiful and deadly Princess Isrif, the great sage Koriell and his bird of a thousand colors, Nicte…they felt like old friends, even in foreign lands. Almost unconsciously, she found herself stirred to break the silence, and, with a sharp inhale, broke into soft song. Seraphina did not know the words to most of the songs that she sung, in truth; if she were asked, she would not be able to tell you what they meant or how they were written. Music was another hand-me-down from Viceroy, but her tongue and lips closed around his foreign words with all the familiarity one might expect of a native. The particular tune that escaped her lips was a quiet, lilting one, soothing in its gentle inflections. She could vaguely remember him singing it to her some nights when she was very young, ushering her into a troubled sleep. (His singing always felt like an apology.) She fell into tune with the gentle breeze and kept her eyes to the stars, content to serve as a perch for fireflies or a feature of the landscape and grateful from the reprieve from the thoughts and duties of the day.

@

AW <3