we answer in a voice made of teeth.
”Yes.” An ear flutters back to the shore and traces of a paper-thin smile begin to pull the corners of her lips. With Raum dead and the throne suddenly vacant, Avdotya can smell opportunity as it wafts from the devastated capitol - it awaits its great saviour, some strong soul to replenish what was lost in the old tyrant’s wake. She anticipates all of the caravans, the parade of goods meant to rejuvenate a society crippled by misfortune... she knows they are coming and she sees prosperity for her horde of Davke as they begin to regroup.
And here it starts, a spark to the kindling that would ignite the flame, with a piece of the Davke so conveniently falling into her lap despite her lack of trying. It is as if Solis himself is asking her, urging her to restore his mighty horde to its former glory in the desert - and she is happy to oblige. The Mors has been missing a vital piece for far too long, graced only by a brief reprise when the capitol was reduced to ash on the wind. This, she knows, will be their true return, not a mere fleck in time.
”What next?”
His question pulls the viper from her thoughts and she finally tips her head just enough to look at him. First there is silence, a pause to allow her to submerge most of her body under the crystal water until she slowly crawls out from the depths to meet the man chest-to-chest. With her skin still dripping, Avdotya reaches her maw to his waiting ear and murmurs softly, ”We take what is not ours.” As we always have. Her eyes linger on him, seeking his gaze for but a fleeting moment; it crumbles quickly, that moment, giving way for her to peel past him and saunter closer to Feliks where he sits further down the shoreline.
She stops just before the borzoi (who welcomes her back with his typical tail-wag), breathes a long and sharp sigh, then turns back to the stallion. ”Your name?”
And here it starts, a spark to the kindling that would ignite the flame, with a piece of the Davke so conveniently falling into her lap despite her lack of trying. It is as if Solis himself is asking her, urging her to restore his mighty horde to its former glory in the desert - and she is happy to oblige. The Mors has been missing a vital piece for far too long, graced only by a brief reprise when the capitol was reduced to ash on the wind. This, she knows, will be their true return, not a mere fleck in time.
”What next?”
His question pulls the viper from her thoughts and she finally tips her head just enough to look at him. First there is silence, a pause to allow her to submerge most of her body under the crystal water until she slowly crawls out from the depths to meet the man chest-to-chest. With her skin still dripping, Avdotya reaches her maw to his waiting ear and murmurs softly, ”We take what is not ours.” As we always have. Her eyes linger on him, seeking his gaze for but a fleeting moment; it crumbles quickly, that moment, giving way for her to peel past him and saunter closer to Feliks where he sits further down the shoreline.
She stops just before the borzoi (who welcomes her back with his typical tail-wag), breathes a long and sharp sigh, then turns back to the stallion. ”Your name?”
Avdotya.
