☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
but I do wonder how they know
cause they don't die if they don't grow
“Fia” walks the ridges.
Walking is perhaps an incorrect word. Her hooves drift a few inches above the dry ground, the product of her magical overflow; if she can keep the rushing river of sparks that has become an extension of her soul contained, she does not desire to, and allows it to carry her freely whenever she thinks that it is convenient.
While observing, silence is always convenient – even when one is high above one’s quarry.
It is easy enough to fall back into old rituals when circumstances demand them, and she has fallen back into her role as a guard with practiced ease. There is some strange comfort to be found in repetition, and it soothes her to walk the winding desert paths, endless and lonely; she feels untouchable and untouched. She designs patrols and sends scouts to follow them, but, with sword at hip and arrow at chest, she works alone. They are outnumbered as it is, a fledgling resistance that could be snuffed out all too easily if they caught the attention of the court’s new Sovereign, and, with her magic and her weaponry, she is more than capable of defending herself against any threat the desert could throw at her.
The figure on the ground below – in the canyon proper – is a lean, dark bay with a curved sickle of a horn and a tail that reminds her of a particularly hairy lion’s. There is a glint of gold to him that catches her attention; trinkets, but she is not sure what to think of them yet. She cannot make out much of his form from this distance, but she decides that he is no stranger to this desert. There is too much ease to his stride, to the way that he navigates the tight, serpentine coils of the canyon. As a guard, she spent years accompanying citizens and strangers alike through the deserts of Solterra, and his motions do not seem like those of an unwitting traveler – he is too familiar.
And, as he weaves further and further into the canyons, she decides that he is getting too close. Is he searching for them? A refugee from the court? A noble? A spy? A guard or a soldier, sent by Raum to investigate the rumors that were beginning to swirl around the canyon? It was impossible to tell, from such a distance, but she knew that she recognized everyone in her rebellion, and he was certainly not one of her members.
Seraphina, with a fleeting glance towards the canyon walls, begins to pick out a path to the ground.
When she finds one – a slender, precariously serpentine thing that barely edges out from the canyon walls – she edges down it carefully. Although she can hover, Seraphina doesn’t want to find out what would happen if she fell. She picks her way to the ground very, very slowly; she was already behind him, when she began her descent, but this has put even further distance between them. She can no longer see him; he has passed around a bend.
But she can move like a gust of wind – her hooves need not even touch the ground, and, with the arrow tucked into the soft coils of her scarf and the blade at her side, she need not get close to cut him open. (Her mind is becoming a frightening thing to behold; not so frightening as Isra, perhaps, who can shape reality itself to her will, but frightening in its raw force, in the way that it is unbending. Her thoughts cannot create, but they can slaughter. Even from a distance, she is a lethal thing.)
She does not, however, drift. She walks, her hooves a steady clack against the harsh, dry patchwork of stone and sand that makes up the floor of the canyon; she doesn’t want to guise her presence. Quite the opposite, in fact – she wants him to know that she is coming.
She winds around the bend. Faces him, with some distance still between them. Stops.
Her voice comes low and lilting; native Solterran. She makes no effort to hide her accent, though her tone, in spite of her armor and visible weaponry, seems unassuming. “Are you lost, stranger?”
Seraphina would have cut directly to the chase – but Fia can play the fool, when it suits her.
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tags | @Anatoly
notes | sorry this took so long, lovely <3 I really am excited for this thread.
but I do wonder how they know
cause they don't die if they don't grow
“Fia” walks the ridges.
Walking is perhaps an incorrect word. Her hooves drift a few inches above the dry ground, the product of her magical overflow; if she can keep the rushing river of sparks that has become an extension of her soul contained, she does not desire to, and allows it to carry her freely whenever she thinks that it is convenient.
While observing, silence is always convenient – even when one is high above one’s quarry.
It is easy enough to fall back into old rituals when circumstances demand them, and she has fallen back into her role as a guard with practiced ease. There is some strange comfort to be found in repetition, and it soothes her to walk the winding desert paths, endless and lonely; she feels untouchable and untouched. She designs patrols and sends scouts to follow them, but, with sword at hip and arrow at chest, she works alone. They are outnumbered as it is, a fledgling resistance that could be snuffed out all too easily if they caught the attention of the court’s new Sovereign, and, with her magic and her weaponry, she is more than capable of defending herself against any threat the desert could throw at her.
The figure on the ground below – in the canyon proper – is a lean, dark bay with a curved sickle of a horn and a tail that reminds her of a particularly hairy lion’s. There is a glint of gold to him that catches her attention; trinkets, but she is not sure what to think of them yet. She cannot make out much of his form from this distance, but she decides that he is no stranger to this desert. There is too much ease to his stride, to the way that he navigates the tight, serpentine coils of the canyon. As a guard, she spent years accompanying citizens and strangers alike through the deserts of Solterra, and his motions do not seem like those of an unwitting traveler – he is too familiar.
And, as he weaves further and further into the canyons, she decides that he is getting too close. Is he searching for them? A refugee from the court? A noble? A spy? A guard or a soldier, sent by Raum to investigate the rumors that were beginning to swirl around the canyon? It was impossible to tell, from such a distance, but she knew that she recognized everyone in her rebellion, and he was certainly not one of her members.
Seraphina, with a fleeting glance towards the canyon walls, begins to pick out a path to the ground.
When she finds one – a slender, precariously serpentine thing that barely edges out from the canyon walls – she edges down it carefully. Although she can hover, Seraphina doesn’t want to find out what would happen if she fell. She picks her way to the ground very, very slowly; she was already behind him, when she began her descent, but this has put even further distance between them. She can no longer see him; he has passed around a bend.
But she can move like a gust of wind – her hooves need not even touch the ground, and, with the arrow tucked into the soft coils of her scarf and the blade at her side, she need not get close to cut him open. (Her mind is becoming a frightening thing to behold; not so frightening as Isra, perhaps, who can shape reality itself to her will, but frightening in its raw force, in the way that it is unbending. Her thoughts cannot create, but they can slaughter. Even from a distance, she is a lethal thing.)
She does not, however, drift. She walks, her hooves a steady clack against the harsh, dry patchwork of stone and sand that makes up the floor of the canyon; she doesn’t want to guise her presence. Quite the opposite, in fact – she wants him to know that she is coming.
She winds around the bend. Faces him, with some distance still between them. Stops.
Her voice comes low and lilting; native Solterran. She makes no effort to hide her accent, though her tone, in spite of her armor and visible weaponry, seems unassuming. “Are you lost, stranger?”
Seraphina would have cut directly to the chase – but Fia can play the fool, when it suits her.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @Anatoly
notes | sorry this took so long, lovely <3 I really am excited for this thread.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
