[AW] Peace in the Sea of Grass

[Marisol]

with sword
and salt

Marisol is pleasantly surprised to find that the girl smiles when she approaches. The Commander is not used to such warm receptions; her reputation precedes her, and she is well-known across Terrastella not only for her waspish countenance but for the trail of violence she leaves when training on the meadows. Mostly when she meets a stranger, they regard her with a sort of wide-eyed trepidation. Not this one. 

She is tall and slim and splashed in roan and white, but there are more interesting parts of her popping out at first glance—bright turquoise tribal markings spiral from her face down her neck, and when Marisol looks down she sees the same markings on the girl’s fetlocks. The wings that stretch out behind her are patterned in alternate black, white, and blue, and Mari can’t help marveling at the sight of them, so unashamedly bright against the pale sky.

“It is,” Marisol agrees, tilting her head and gaze upward. “I should really watch it more.” She rarely has the time nowadays, but looking at the dawn makes her ashamed that she doesn’t take the beauty of her homeland more seriously. With a pang of something like regret, she starts to think back, longing for the days as a kid that she would spend out here in the fields or on the beaches as the sun came up, slashing her spear through the warm air. It was like this, always—unerringly beautiful, and wasted on the way Marisol’s eyes were always turned toward blood instead.

Uzuri. The Commander nods; she hasn’t heard of her, but that’s not surprising. Marisol’s social circle is woefully small outside the scope of the Halcyon and Asterion. (And Isra, she thinks with a pang of something like despair.) “Halcyon Commander Marisol,” she introduces with a dip of her head, her roached mane bristling as her neck bends, and looks up with cool gray eyes. “What brings you out here?”

credits