avdotya,
fearless child,
feral girl, tell me what it's like to burn.
Overhead there is a screech, piercing and lethal and full of awful intent. It draws Avdotya’s gaze from the gentle roll of a dune-filled horizon up into the blinding light of the sky, up where she can see the sharp silhouette of a teryr gliding effortlessly towards the Capitol. She already knows what is on the beast’s mind- that it is death it seeks, a violent song and dance that will ultimately end with loss of life... be it its own or those of the court. If only, she thinks, if only she could be there to watch the massive bird bring down its wicked hand of savagery upon them.
But she has other things to do, more important tasks than watching the perils of Day Court. Instead the Khan has been tracking the comings and goings of caravans, taking note of the commonly used routes and others less conspicuous to conniving eyes. With Raum out of the picture, it seems the other courts have been more willing to do trade with the desert nation rife with conflict. Carts overflowing with goods - fresh fruits and vegetables, glittering gold, silken fabric - are becoming more and more frequent upon the dusty routes of old. They are a tempting sight to behold, but one Avdotya resists for now. She must be smart, tactical... there is no charging in blind when one only has themself to rely on.
Of course, she is never truly alone.
Up ahead, Feliks gallops relentlessly. It is their usual method of travel, the borzoi scouting up ahead while she trots in his wake. Another merchant group- smaller, comes his voice. The hound’s steady gaze is focused on the sellers with their items in tow under the power of a couple sweat-covered ox, and so Avdotya’s attention drifts that way as well. It meanders, but not enough to miss the sound of rushing hooves in desert sand.
She turns her head in time to spot the man coming from her vantage point along the slope of a dune. Briefly, the mare’s eyes dart back to the caravan, a group blissfully unaware that they are being watched. She intends to keep her prowling a secret, which also means that she cannot allow this stallion to continue his reckless path across the Mors. So Avdotya slides down the sand dune, as sure-footed as a mountain goat, and steps out into his path with no trace of hesitation. ”Yield.” She commands, her spear having already unsheathed itself from its holster ready for what use she may have of it. Her voice is low and threatening, just loud enough for him to take note but not quite enough to gather the eyes of those she follows. He will stop whether he plans to or not.
@Jhion let's get this ball rollin'!
But she has other things to do, more important tasks than watching the perils of Day Court. Instead the Khan has been tracking the comings and goings of caravans, taking note of the commonly used routes and others less conspicuous to conniving eyes. With Raum out of the picture, it seems the other courts have been more willing to do trade with the desert nation rife with conflict. Carts overflowing with goods - fresh fruits and vegetables, glittering gold, silken fabric - are becoming more and more frequent upon the dusty routes of old. They are a tempting sight to behold, but one Avdotya resists for now. She must be smart, tactical... there is no charging in blind when one only has themself to rely on.
Of course, she is never truly alone.
Up ahead, Feliks gallops relentlessly. It is their usual method of travel, the borzoi scouting up ahead while she trots in his wake. Another merchant group- smaller, comes his voice. The hound’s steady gaze is focused on the sellers with their items in tow under the power of a couple sweat-covered ox, and so Avdotya’s attention drifts that way as well. It meanders, but not enough to miss the sound of rushing hooves in desert sand.
She turns her head in time to spot the man coming from her vantage point along the slope of a dune. Briefly, the mare’s eyes dart back to the caravan, a group blissfully unaware that they are being watched. She intends to keep her prowling a secret, which also means that she cannot allow this stallion to continue his reckless path across the Mors. So Avdotya slides down the sand dune, as sure-footed as a mountain goat, and steps out into his path with no trace of hesitation. ”Yield.” She commands, her spear having already unsheathed itself from its holster ready for what use she may have of it. Her voice is low and threatening, just loud enough for him to take note but not quite enough to gather the eyes of those she follows. He will stop whether he plans to or not.
@
table by sunny | image by Krystallizedart @ dA | for novus use only
