R H O S W E N
To say that much more occurred following Maxence's announcement would have been a lie, but that did not mean Rhoswen stopped watching, or listening. From beneath spiderleg lashes she observed hungrily, studying the faces of her court until they were printed like murals on her inner walls, and she knew smugly that they would never be forgotten. A woman in particular catches her darkened eye; the one they called Seraphina, now known as the emissary of Solterra. The ashen mare, adorned by a stark silver collar, seemed almost dazed by her new appointment. She moved slowly, silently, and Rhoswen did not miss a thing. Her attention however was quickly broken by the sound of Inkheart's prayer - the caliginous mare's voice droning out into the heat. It seemed to drag, but even the flighty redhead could not deny the swelling of pride in her chest. Home. She waited only until the gruff sovereign made his own leave before turning on ankles born for ballet, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the gathering before disappearing through the towering doors, no more than a whisper on the wind. |