FIRE-LIT, HALF SILHOUETTE AND HALF MYTH, THE WOLF CIRCLES MY PAST, TREADING THE LEAVES INTO A BED TILL HE SLEEPS, BLACK SNOUT ON EXTENDED PAWS. BLACK SNOUT ON SULPHUR BODY, HE NUDGED HIS WAY INTO MY CONSCIOUSNESS. THERE IS NOTHING THAT WON'T BE LIT UP IN THE DARK TORCH OF HIS EYES.
And in heading that nation, I would end it.
Orestes only appraises her. His eyes are as still and calm as the sea on a windless day; that is to say there is some kind of movement beneath them but the surface, the image seems strangely unmoving. There is a depth to his expression that is carefully unreadable. Orestes understands when something has little or no use; and the endeavour he has engaged in promises no satisfaction for either of them. The venom in her tone is a type of passion he has long-since grown accustomed to, in the voices of his deceased Khashran denouncing the virtues of their enemy, or of Solterra nobles chastising the lower caste. It is a special type of arsenic that belongs to those who do not believe in mobility; who are etched strongly in their ways, unmovable.
I did not need you to ask, your majesty. Orestes almost smiles at her heat. Almost. But he doesn’t. He shakes his head, perhaps a little sadly. The cold air bites at his eyes, his ears, the edges of his mouth and nostrils. Faeries are singing in his ears, but he does not go to them. The brook continues to whisper secrets, longing for the ocean it does not yet know. He paws briefly at the snow and glances toward the sky, thinking of how for some reason the air felt as though it held a storm.
“I imagine your spear does not lose its thirst for blood of any kind.” Orestes’s tone is noncommittal when he returns his gaze to her. Strangely, there is no judgement when Orestes states what he perceives as fact; he mentions her nature as offhandedly as one would a lion's hunger on the hunt. Orestes shrugs his shoulders with the suppleness of a cat. You already know the answer to that. She is looking away from him now. “I do,” Orestes agrees. “And I certainly hope you find your place again. But there are changes on the horizon. Good ones, I hope. It is very difficult to make them as long as those who have been wronged maintain their contempt and prejudice, as rightly earned as it may be. I do believe there will always be a place for the Davke in the desert, perhaps long after the kingdom of Solterra continues to exist. But if you ever desire, there would be a place for you as well within the walls of the capital.”
She is not unwise and Orestes cannot blame her for her opinions on his court. Not so many years ago, he had the same opinions of a kingdom that had wronged his people in a similar way. Just as I presume you seek the same for your court, free as it can be.
There is something mischievous in his eyes as he begins to walk away. A smile hints at the edges of his mouth. It is reckless of him, he knows. But he does it anyway. “Free as it can be,” Orestes agrees. Even as he says it he wonders . “It has been a pleasure; but I think I’ve indulged in enough whimsy for the day. There are obligations I must be returning to… regardless, if you ever find yourself within the capitol Avdotya—“ and in that moment Orestes reveals he recognises her bear-skin coat and scarred figure after all ”—we have no Warden, and I can think of no one so versed in warfare and survival as you. Perhaps there will be a time when the Court no longer contradicts your ideologies so heavily, and I might have proven myself more trustworthy than the last few regimes. We have more in common than you might think.”
Orestes lingers just long enough to allow her time to reply, before giving a respectful nod of his head. Orestes then walks back through the snow toward the bridge he sought passage on, faeries pulling at his mane and tail, their laughter like chiming glass.
@Avdotya || “speech”
"THE WOLVES HAVE
BEEN SLAUGHTERED
NOW, A HEDGE OF
SMOKING GUN BARRELS
RINGS MY DAUGHTERS
DREAMS"
BEEN SLAUGHTERED
NOW, A HEDGE OF
SMOKING GUN BARRELS
RINGS MY DAUGHTERS
DREAMS"
