The wind was beginning to howl, and, looking up, she saw the creeping silhouettes of charcoal-grey clouds on the edge of the horizon. If a storm was approaching, they would need to find shelter as quickly as possible, and it was sparse on the narrow, winding trails of the Armas. Her more immediate worry, however, was her newfound companion; he was quick to offer her an answer. A Dawn Court caretaker, searching Denocte for herbs? Although Seraphina still refused to trust a stranger on principle, she supposed that it was a reasonable answer, though she would have expected the Dawn Court would have sent someone to guide him, if he was so unfamiliar with these trails. Then again, none of the courts had leadership, at the moment – they might be short-handed. In any case, Seraphina didn’t have a reason to question him further, so she replied with a flat, “I see. You have picked a good time, in that case. The Night Court does not have a sovereign, for the time – they will not punish you for trespassing in their realm.” She glanced back at him, offering a slight nod. “I am heading to Denocte, so we are going in the same direction. These trails are safer to travel in groups.” This was likely the closest to genuine approval that could be garnered from Seraphina. She would likely have been content to proceed in silence, had they not immediately been interrupted by something streaming down from the sky towards them.
Reflexes honed from years of careful training sent her hooves skidding into a more defensive posture the moment that she caught sight of the creature hurtling towards them; body twisted to the side, bracing for potential impact or threat from ahead. It was moving too quickly for her to catch it with her telekinesis, though she did have enough time to extend her thoughts and adjust its traction. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she tried to grip the ball of what appeared to be fur and flappy skin – ears? -, barely managing to twist it downward and slow it enough to keep it from slamming into the face of the mountain. As the little creature skidded to a stop in front of her hooves, Seraphina found herself jerking up at the sound of a much larger thump just ahead of her.
The youth that had just made a rather dramatic collision with their path was black as ink, save for what appeared to be a spattering of golden hues on the bonier portions of his massive wings; he was imposingly tall, but lanky, though she imagined his stature would make him a viable threat in combat, unlike the last stallion she’d encountered. She was positive, however, that the ridiculous expanse of his tail would have to serve as some form of inhibition in combat. (Seraphina wasn’t even entirely sure how he could walk with that thing tumbling around behind him.) A look at his embarrassed expression told her that she likely needn’t have sized him up in the first place. He offered a quick apology, his accent thick and foreign against her ears, then proceeded to introduce himself. His pronunciation was clumsy, and his words were in a jumbled order, but she couldn’t fault him for that. Damascus, was it? It didn’t seem that he came by her language natively, and Seraphina knew from experience the difficulties of learning a new one. She could, however, fault him for interrupting her travels all over again.
The howling grew worse, more vicious – her yet-nameless companion was yelling at the newcomer to be heard above it, his tone stiff with frustration.
She strode up the fallen youth, then, her eyes skimming his frame for any signs of major damage; she was not a caretaker, like her companion, but she had enough experience in battle to recognize broken bones when she saw them. It seemed that he’d been lucky enough to come out of his fall unscathed, but that didn’t prevent her from offering something of a dull reprimand. “If you are unfamiliar with this region, it is unsafe to travel it – especially by flight, because the weather changes so rapidly at these higher altitudes, and especially at night. You came very close to shattering your soul,” She offered a pointed glance at the small, furry creature, “and you could have very easily lost your life. There is a reason why the Night Court worries little about invaders.” For all her chiding, her expression and tone revealed no concern – Seraphina remained cold as ever. She glanced back over her shoulder at the rolling banks of clouds, sucking in a breath, before she returned her steely gaze to the two stallions. “I am Seraphina, warrior of the Day Court. Assuming that you can walk,” She nodded at Damascus, “I would suggest we attempt to find some form of shelter – an overhang, or a ridge. It seems a storm is coming.” Her voice was raised just enough to be heard over the wail of the wind, projected with the air of stiff authority she took when dealing with younger soldiers in court.
@Kaladin @DamascusReflexes honed from years of careful training sent her hooves skidding into a more defensive posture the moment that she caught sight of the creature hurtling towards them; body twisted to the side, bracing for potential impact or threat from ahead. It was moving too quickly for her to catch it with her telekinesis, though she did have enough time to extend her thoughts and adjust its traction. Her brow furrowed with concentration as she tried to grip the ball of what appeared to be fur and flappy skin – ears? -, barely managing to twist it downward and slow it enough to keep it from slamming into the face of the mountain. As the little creature skidded to a stop in front of her hooves, Seraphina found herself jerking up at the sound of a much larger thump just ahead of her.
The youth that had just made a rather dramatic collision with their path was black as ink, save for what appeared to be a spattering of golden hues on the bonier portions of his massive wings; he was imposingly tall, but lanky, though she imagined his stature would make him a viable threat in combat, unlike the last stallion she’d encountered. She was positive, however, that the ridiculous expanse of his tail would have to serve as some form of inhibition in combat. (Seraphina wasn’t even entirely sure how he could walk with that thing tumbling around behind him.) A look at his embarrassed expression told her that she likely needn’t have sized him up in the first place. He offered a quick apology, his accent thick and foreign against her ears, then proceeded to introduce himself. His pronunciation was clumsy, and his words were in a jumbled order, but she couldn’t fault him for that. Damascus, was it? It didn’t seem that he came by her language natively, and Seraphina knew from experience the difficulties of learning a new one. She could, however, fault him for interrupting her travels all over again.
The howling grew worse, more vicious – her yet-nameless companion was yelling at the newcomer to be heard above it, his tone stiff with frustration.
She strode up the fallen youth, then, her eyes skimming his frame for any signs of major damage; she was not a caretaker, like her companion, but she had enough experience in battle to recognize broken bones when she saw them. It seemed that he’d been lucky enough to come out of his fall unscathed, but that didn’t prevent her from offering something of a dull reprimand. “If you are unfamiliar with this region, it is unsafe to travel it – especially by flight, because the weather changes so rapidly at these higher altitudes, and especially at night. You came very close to shattering your soul,” She offered a pointed glance at the small, furry creature, “and you could have very easily lost your life. There is a reason why the Night Court worries little about invaders.” For all her chiding, her expression and tone revealed no concern – Seraphina remained cold as ever. She glanced back over her shoulder at the rolling banks of clouds, sucking in a breath, before she returned her steely gaze to the two stallions. “I am Seraphina, warrior of the Day Court. Assuming that you can walk,” She nodded at Damascus, “I would suggest we attempt to find some form of shelter – an overhang, or a ridge. It seems a storm is coming.” Her voice was raised just enough to be heard over the wail of the wind, projected with the air of stiff authority she took when dealing with younger soldiers in court.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
