Dragged by the wind, taken by the stars
Carried with the madness and scars
Carried with the madness and scars
He stands before Asterion, shouldering his way past those who would stand in his way so that he might view the King without obstruction. Only Fiona is welcome at his side, his wing brushing tenderly against her slender side should she choose to join him. Quietly he looks on, golden eyes narrowed in minor scrutiny as he listens to the bay speak.
There are a myriad of things that leap into the healer’s mind, but more predominantly than the others Atreus wonders if Asterion is simply afraid of the rapid changes happening around Novus. To jump ship now when his people needed guidance the most was a cowardly thing which, until now, Atreus hadn’t viewed the man as such. His words are cutting when he speaks, unrelenting.
“It would be unfitting to place another on the mantle of sovereignty in the wake of Novus’… anomalous events.” The emergence of a volcano soon to erupt, followed by days of ash and then a peculiar bridge stretching the length of the ocean. The mystery was yet to unravel itself, the cause behind the occurrences yet to be unveiled, making it a poor time for a shift in leadership in Atreus’ eyes. “Your idea isn’t unjustified – but your timing is poor.”
The words barely leave his mouth before a wave of panicked gasps rush over the gathered crowd, and Atreus cranes his neck just in time to bear witness to Marisol’s fall. His feet are moving beneath him before the King can even finish saying his name, abandoning the crowd in his wake as he joins the frantic King and the battered Commander. Experienced eyes drag over her form, taking note of the bruises, the gashes, the tensing of muscles begging for release. He sees too the ferocity in her eyes, though for what reason he doesn’t know. Perhaps the sea had swallowed her, chewed her up and spit her out, too volatile for its taste.
“Can you reach the hospital?” He asks, knowing he was of little use without his proper supplies. The roan glances back in search for either Fiona or Theodosia, trusting only them to fetch his things should Marisol be too stricken with pain to reach the medical ward.
"Speaking."
There are a myriad of things that leap into the healer’s mind, but more predominantly than the others Atreus wonders if Asterion is simply afraid of the rapid changes happening around Novus. To jump ship now when his people needed guidance the most was a cowardly thing which, until now, Atreus hadn’t viewed the man as such. His words are cutting when he speaks, unrelenting.
“It would be unfitting to place another on the mantle of sovereignty in the wake of Novus’… anomalous events.” The emergence of a volcano soon to erupt, followed by days of ash and then a peculiar bridge stretching the length of the ocean. The mystery was yet to unravel itself, the cause behind the occurrences yet to be unveiled, making it a poor time for a shift in leadership in Atreus’ eyes. “Your idea isn’t unjustified – but your timing is poor.”
The words barely leave his mouth before a wave of panicked gasps rush over the gathered crowd, and Atreus cranes his neck just in time to bear witness to Marisol’s fall. His feet are moving beneath him before the King can even finish saying his name, abandoning the crowd in his wake as he joins the frantic King and the battered Commander. Experienced eyes drag over her form, taking note of the bruises, the gashes, the tensing of muscles begging for release. He sees too the ferocity in her eyes, though for what reason he doesn’t know. Perhaps the sea had swallowed her, chewed her up and spit her out, too volatile for its taste.
“Can you reach the hospital?” He asks, knowing he was of little use without his proper supplies. The roan glances back in search for either Fiona or Theodosia, trusting only them to fetch his things should Marisol be too stricken with pain to reach the medical ward.
be careful with that one, love, he will do what it takes to survive
all contact is permitted and encouraged
