![[Image: rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png]](https://orig15.deviantart.net/7f0b/f/2017/234/b/6/rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png)
Rhoswen hadn't slept after accompanying the moon and the stars until upon the pale morning sky they dimmed and faded like forgotten ghosts. Ballerina hooves beat over the cascading dunes, her body a sanguine jewel capering across sand and hot air as she flickered back toward the castle. The horn had pierced her solitude with crashing ambivalence, tearing down the walls she had so rigorously designed and constructed - it's low, demanding sound echoed on in her head, bouncing off her luminous thoughts. She swam through memories, swatting them away with an organic assurance that she had perhaps lacked in recent weeks; there was now only a thought of the future, for herself, for Solterra.
Licked by a fine sheen of sweat, Rhoswen glides up the great stone steps, dancing on ice, and appears from a russet shadow into the courtyard. Her cyclonic gaze fractured and cracked, splintering across the figures standing like statues beneath Solis' dawn. Eyes of iron and lead and dusty brilliance, sharp as arrows, find their mark: Seraphina. For a moment the red-haired woman merely stares, absorbing, her blood undulating. A silent bird, was that ashen woman, a silent bird of prey. A shift in the air snaps Rhoswen's attention in two, "good luck" - the words lift and hang in the cool of morn, their creator standing as ravishing as ever. Bexley, to whom Rhos sends a fleeting grin; she had not seen the blonde in many weeks, what had changed in her own little world? Her gaze moves on now, easy and unassuming, noting the faces of Avdotya, Voltaire and someone who brought her to pause. Eik. The sight of him filled her with a small, gentle warmth. With a nod in his direction, Rhos turned to face Seraphina once more.
The crackle of a power-shift buzzed in the air, electric and alive.
Licked by a fine sheen of sweat, Rhoswen glides up the great stone steps, dancing on ice, and appears from a russet shadow into the courtyard. Her cyclonic gaze fractured and cracked, splintering across the figures standing like statues beneath Solis' dawn. Eyes of iron and lead and dusty brilliance, sharp as arrows, find their mark: Seraphina. For a moment the red-haired woman merely stares, absorbing, her blood undulating. A silent bird, was that ashen woman, a silent bird of prey. A shift in the air snaps Rhoswen's attention in two, "good luck" - the words lift and hang in the cool of morn, their creator standing as ravishing as ever. Bexley, to whom Rhos sends a fleeting grin; she had not seen the blonde in many weeks, what had changed in her own little world? Her gaze moves on now, easy and unassuming, noting the faces of Avdotya, Voltaire and someone who brought her to pause. Eik. The sight of him filled her with a small, gentle warmth. With a nod in his direction, Rhos turned to face Seraphina once more.
The crackle of a power-shift buzzed in the air, electric and alive.
-She Here-
