She leans into the touch upon her fin like a tamed lion called to hand, and oh, she is so glad that her silver queen is still alive. She does not miss how Seraphina stands still when she bursts from the water, how her queen does not flinch or step away, and she wonders how much of that is bravery and how much of that is the exhaustion that comes with losing your throne -- she knows all too well how it might feel for the woman before her, no matter how little she had been attached to her own crown. Her head cranes up, brushing her muzzle against the bridge of Seraphina’s nose, across the plane of her cheek, a constant reassurance that this is not an apparition that stands before her -- and, perhaps, seeking to comfort the woman who stands before her. “I thought so,” She thinks of the guards she has seen patrolling the Oasis and the resources contained within, of how they had murmured low amongst themselves and abruptly cut off whenever anyone had come close -- even she had never managed to creep close enough to listen, too afraid of tipping them off to her presence beneath the waters. They had begun to stockpile food here, as well, under heavy guard, and she is not so naive that she could ignore the signs, although she does not expect Seraphina’s next words. “Dovahkiin?” She hisses out in surprise, the syllables coming to her tongue as a long-forgotten memory -- of staring up at Valyrian as she had painstakingly explained each word in halting common-tongue, determined that her child would know their heritage when it became clear that she and her child would be seperated, as Acheron had done his best to keep the language alive those long days locked up in the tower -- and her head cocks to the side in surprise, the main set of eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Or -- Tahkiin, the small ones? Is that what you mean?” She has not seen a true dragon since she and her mother had been separated -- only the strange pygmy dragons that seemed to inhabit each land, or the wyverns who were cousins but not quite kin. She had found Linette, but her sister was only a halfbreed like her, not quite dovah -- they did not count, not really, except for where they did in the dragon’s endless dance of survival. She heaves herself further from the water, hooves scraping at the rocks and the delicate fins along her stomach tearing slightly from the friction, but she barely notices. “I would like to be freed,” She agrees with a backwards glance over her shoulder, her lip curling towards the still waters of the Oasis. “I have been a prisoner far too often in my life -- I am tired of it. Even my crown once felt like a prison. I would wish to fly again, but I do not think that will happen -- so I will settle for the freedom of movement instead.” Perhaps she might even be afforded the chance to hunt down the witch who had stolen her child. “I can -- help, once freed. My father taught me how to mend wounds, how to treat ailments. I would be honored to do so for you.” |
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