you, like Rome,were built on ashes,
and you, like a phoenix,
know how to rise
and resurrect
◦ ☄ ◦
Bram is quick to raise his hackles, a warning to the phoenix and her beloved tigress. Still, they do not digress from their path, no distractions, no journeys into the unknown to steal her away. She's an arrow striking true, stopping only when she's near enough to count the Regent's breaths, to watch the rise and fall of her chest and the movement of her sides. Golden eyes trace all of her, from the blade to the quivering of her sides to the wolf steady at her heels. He is trained well, she thinks, but gently questions instead, "Are you doing anything that deserves to be spied upon?" Her words are not meant to brook an argument or begin a fight, but it is always a fight with Morrighan. There's never an easy way. At the Estate, there were others with the personality of a donkey that matched the Regent's. Then, Moira cared much less about the people and their opinions, enough so that it was easier to ignore them and live her life in silence, in solitude as she'd chosen to eventually.
Here, that isn't an option. "I am not spying on you, Morrighan. There is no reason to keep eyes on the Regent of Denocte, and why should there be?" Lilting voice tilts upward just as her gaze does. An eye follows the graceful arc of the blade, watches it glint golden in the light of Morrighan's fire even as she vanquishes her flames much as she'd like to snuff out Moira's own light. Usually, she would raise a brow. Before, she would even rise to the challenge, step forward and encroach upon a space that is not yet hers. Today, she does not. She is not here for a war, for a bloodbath that she can feel Morrighan breathing in and out.
One of them wants to taste iron.
One of them wants only peace.
With a sigh, she lets her eyes float out over the land, over the swaying of the grasses under the silver scythe moon that hugs the sky so tightly. Way up there, she doesn't seem like she'll ever fall. Eventually, of course, she will. They all will in their own time. Even her, a young immortal, would find a place to rest her head a final time when the final curtain call comes. She closes her eyes and lifts her nose to the sky, breathing in the freshness away from their city. With a smile and a puff of air out, she states "This is as much my court as it is yours, you know. If I remember, it was mine first," and there is a sardonic smile she keeps from the woman who would wield a flame before she would a word. Hidden in the folds of the dark, she composes herself and clears her throat. Neerja stalks off into the brush at last, leaving the two to bark and howl until they are content or chase one another from their peace again.
Whatever peace they might find...
