The youth apologized again, but he offered a small protest to their scolding. It occurred to her that they might have overwhelmed the boy as he stumbled to his feet, extending his massive wings to provide a meager shelter from the howling wind. He was still a child, and she supposed that it was likely unreasonable to expect him to have sound judgement, much less if he were as foreign as his accent implied. Viceroy would have had the boy’s head for this incident, she imagined – when she was younger and foolish and wrong (wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong), Seraphina, barely a yearling, had tried to creep away from the court when night fell. She’d wandered for nearly a day before she found herself caught in a sandstorm, and it was Viceroy, again, who found her. He’d yelled at her for what felt like hours – she might have expected (no, wanted) concern, but he was only angry that she’d broken rules. Seraphina might have hoped for more from him, at first, but her memories were so scattered and dry, tainted from years of his touch, that they might as well have belonged to someone else, and whatever she'd felt then was incomprehensible now. He’d reached inside her head and twisted harder than he’d ever twisted before. She didn’t walk for a week, and she thought that she remembered the sting of betrayal whenever she tried to stand.
Seraphina did not sneak out again.
After confirming that he could, indeed, stand, the youth asked if they might find shelter downhill. “More likely than up here,” She said, “and it is less dangerous besides.” She began to retrace her own steps, moving towards the foothills with the others at her side. The first stallion that she’d met – the caretaker – introduced himself as Kaladin, and, though she found little virtue in small talk, obligation prompted her response. “Seraphina. Warrior of the Day Court.” She offered a slight nod of her head. “I’d say it’s a pleasure,” She added, though it would likely sound hollow coming from her anyways, “but, under the circumstances…” Seraphina trailed off, allowing herself to fall into an uneasy rhythm and keeping her eyes trained on the trail ahead of them. Occasionally her gaze would flicker up to examine her companions; they lingered longest on Kaladin, who seemed to be wilting in the cold. Her coat was not thick enough to withstand it, but Seraphina was well-accustomed to pain, and she’d learned that it was often worse to let it show on her face. Allowing anything to slip through the cracks – or, in fact, allowing cracks at all – would open floodgates, and open floodgates were more than she could handle.
Her searching gaze stumbled over jagged rocks and skeletal trees, cast like great, wizened monsters against a horizon that fluctuated wildly between ink-black and murky grey as starlight flickered in and out of obscurity; she felt mindless, though she knew she was lucid. The youth asked if they should seek shelter beneath a tree, and Kaladin was quick to rebuff him. She wondered what sort of boy would not know of the dangers of lightning, but her thoughts were drowned out by a distant clap of thunder. If the storm was within hearing range, it was dangerous. They had little time to move out of the open before it would break.
Kaladin, gesturing into the distance, indicated the presence of a cave. “Good eye,” She remarked, finding the dark opening among the weathered face. Her tone still wasn’t warm, but it was, perhaps, a bit kinder than before. She could appreciate capability, but little else. Seraphina strode up to the opening, but stayed just aside of it, nodding to her companions. “Hurry in. We don’t have much time.” If they both stepped inside, she would follow, quiet in her uncertainty. She was never good at carrying conversations.
@Kaladin @Damascus - this post contains blatant abuse of italics. it also might be completely incoherent. it's 1:20 in the morning,Seraphina did not sneak out again.
After confirming that he could, indeed, stand, the youth asked if they might find shelter downhill. “More likely than up here,” She said, “and it is less dangerous besides.” She began to retrace her own steps, moving towards the foothills with the others at her side. The first stallion that she’d met – the caretaker – introduced himself as Kaladin, and, though she found little virtue in small talk, obligation prompted her response. “Seraphina. Warrior of the Day Court.” She offered a slight nod of her head. “I’d say it’s a pleasure,” She added, though it would likely sound hollow coming from her anyways, “but, under the circumstances…” Seraphina trailed off, allowing herself to fall into an uneasy rhythm and keeping her eyes trained on the trail ahead of them. Occasionally her gaze would flicker up to examine her companions; they lingered longest on Kaladin, who seemed to be wilting in the cold. Her coat was not thick enough to withstand it, but Seraphina was well-accustomed to pain, and she’d learned that it was often worse to let it show on her face. Allowing anything to slip through the cracks – or, in fact, allowing cracks at all – would open floodgates, and open floodgates were more than she could handle.
Her searching gaze stumbled over jagged rocks and skeletal trees, cast like great, wizened monsters against a horizon that fluctuated wildly between ink-black and murky grey as starlight flickered in and out of obscurity; she felt mindless, though she knew she was lucid. The youth asked if they should seek shelter beneath a tree, and Kaladin was quick to rebuff him. She wondered what sort of boy would not know of the dangers of lightning, but her thoughts were drowned out by a distant clap of thunder. If the storm was within hearing range, it was dangerous. They had little time to move out of the open before it would break.
Kaladin, gesturing into the distance, indicated the presence of a cave. “Good eye,” She remarked, finding the dark opening among the weathered face. Her tone still wasn’t warm, but it was, perhaps, a bit kinder than before. She could appreciate capability, but little else. Seraphina strode up to the opening, but stayed just aside of it, nodding to her companions. “Hurry in. We don’t have much time.” If they both stepped inside, she would follow, quiet in her uncertainty. She was never good at carrying conversations.
and I can no longer tell up from down.
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
