Inkheart
JUST LIKE FIRE, BURNING OUT THE WAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
IF I CAN LIGHT THE WORLD UP FOR
JUST ONE DAY WATCH THIS MADNESS
COLORFUL CHARADE NO ONE CAN
BE JUST LIKE ME ANYWAY
Pain. Her mind is otherwise clear but pain refuses to leave her in peace, instead threading its way up her front right leg from her humerus on up. It travels through her shoulder and splinters there, the primary senses traveling her nerves up to her mind, pulsing, throbbing. The ache is bearable, for some time has passed since she fractured that rather important bone. But when there's nothing to soothe the pain or aid the remodeling, time seems of little importance.
Her wings beat against the uncooperative air, the wind trying to tell her which way it thinks she should go. Her pinned ears and flared nostrils, blazing eyes face off against it, her feathers deftly powering her ahead. She has one place and one place only she wishes to be - the Peak. Doubtless the God will ignore her as he always did, and it is a wonder she has not lost faith. I have a bone to pick with you. The thought is a snarl in her mind. Her battle against the Elder Teryr had certainly not gone as planned. It wasn't that she thought of defeating it, but being crushed and struck senseless before even devising an attack had NOT been what she'd envisioned.
And so she swirls down from the clouds, seeing the place she wishes to land below. It's not that she expects an apology from Solis for what happened, but that doesn't mean she isn't prepared to confront him about it. A dutiful supplicant, she cannot fathom why her chosen God would chose to abandon her in such a painful and embarrassing way. As she descends, she spies two others that have also come to worship. One she immediately recognizes. The other, a somewhat hairy bay stallion. She lands roughly but a few paces away, three legs and wings supporting her injured leg. She approaches, limping as imperceptibly as she can manage. "Seraphina." It doesn't quite come out as a hiss, but disdain wraps itself snuggly around the pretty mare's name. The obsidian dame curses that she should have been so brutally wounded and embarrassed in front of this rival.
Her golden eyes turn upon the young man. "Greetings, I assume you are both here to praise the glory of Solis?" She does not let on her displeasure with the God who failed to protect her from the ancient beast. There's no use in saying anything negative about him in front of others. Her own struggles would be kept private.
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