it's such a shame,
the ones who died without a name
the ones who died without a name
E
ven though the words are casual, nonchalant, the way that Morrighan talks of a good cause as though it is a reason to join a people you hardly know makes the phoenix' heart turn. It somersaults and rolls, it draws a smile to her face that is earnest and true. Nothing could make her more proud that those within these walls, the spirit that lives within them all as wily and sharp and lovely as any she ever knew before. They are what makes the world magic.
Her troubles seem to be shed like a snakeskin, slipping into the ground, into the dirt, finding their way to the molten core where they sizzle and burn up into ash and magma dust until it is time to don a new cape of worry and stress. That time is not now, not yet, when there is dissonance staining the wind in reds and browns and greens. How could she smile at the weightlessness when this woman holds such a burden within? Carefully, honeyed gaze looks down to Neerja with a gentle sigh, a gentle smile. "Nor am I, my home is far away now, a distant memory in a distant land... But you never really forget, how can you? Neerja is from the jungles here, she found me... She saved me." And the confession is easier than breathing, easier than swimming or drawing or moving. There is a soft rumble from the tiger in question, a loud purr erupting more quickly than a volcano.
The two share a look, one only they can read, and their jungle song plays endlessly between them in arches of love and loops of devotion. If Isra is more than blood, more than love, then Neerja and her will transcend time itself, will write their story in the stars of that sacred bond between them.
When their eyes part, there is no judgement left written in the tiger's eyes. She's moved closer to her phoenix fire, shoulder to shoulder they stand just barely different in height. And those golden eyes follow every curving line, every slight movement, that this woman of cream and gold makes.
"Raum… He was one of ours, once; a part of our court of dreamers. Perhaps nightmares devoured his light, perhaps there is more we don't know. Our people are out, our nightingales in the wind to bring back any morsels left out to pick at. Patience is the key to any tactical maneuver and plan. We will find Isra and we will bring her home, Morrighan Ciardha. I'm curious," she pauses, looking to the fish that flies as the phoenix cannot, wondering what it feels like to soar as they do. "What role do you wish to play in the storm to come?" And it is the acting sovereign who now looks upon Morr, not a healer, not an emissary, but a living flame to light her path wherever it may lead.
@Morrighan | "speaks" | notes: your words are absolutely beautiful ! <3
