The island is alive. It is alive, alive, alive. It has been dead for days. The world has been dead for days, time stopped, unmoving. Time is not a river and it has not flowed, for days. Finally, Antiope has slept, because things were righted. But something inside her whispered in her dreams that still this was not right.
Not right, not right, not right.
There is something out there, and even in her sleep Antiope can feel it watching her. It leaves her searching, in those dreams, for something that she cannot reach. Something so very out of reach. But all of the things inside of her are saying that she wants it, that she must reach it. No matter what, she must.
Antiope does not sleep long, she never does. But the island is inside of her and it is impossible to stay still. She stands and reaches for Theofos, knowing that it rests where it should just behind her shoulder. The ex-warrior trusts nothing on this island, not what she sees nor what she hears, and all that she knows is that every minute she spends within its forests and upon its beaches it becomes more and more of her.
Soon, she will no longer be Antiope at all, but some morph of wild, rampant, strange magic.
The lioness that prowls inside her reminds her that she is some part of that, already.
The air still feels wrong, even when she’s awake, and her sea-blue eyes are alert as she pushes through the trees. The island is alive, somehow, despite the lack of movement. It is alive, deep within its core. Alive with illusion and bewitchment, and she can feel it, the energy. The lioness inside her wants to feast upon it.
The sands are moving when Antiope reaches the beach. They are breathing, swaying, dancing, and still nothing else in the world moves. When the prints first appear, Antiope thinks she is still dreaming. But they disappear into the distance and she brushes them away in the moving sands and nothing is as it appears.
She follows them.
She weaves closer and closer to the center of the island, like it is a maze and there at the heart lies a prize. What the tiger-striped woman had not been expecting was the mass of gathered equines, looking out over what she could only assume was the relic.
The relic, whispers of which spoke only of great power.
The relic, sat there out in the open and not a single one of them trying to take it.
Antiope presses through the crowd like a tiger passes between jungle ferns, the red splashed across her throat a sign. Or a warning. She grasps the handle of Theofos deftly, in preparation. And she knows that in a matter of seconds she could become faster than any of these equines, and in a few minutes could be out of reach of them with the relic in hand.
But the island is inside her, and it is wild and unpredictable. So she steps closer, and closer, and closer, and maybe, just maybe, if one were to look close enough they might see gold leaking into the bright clear blue of her eyes.
Not right, not right, not right.
There is something out there, and even in her sleep Antiope can feel it watching her. It leaves her searching, in those dreams, for something that she cannot reach. Something so very out of reach. But all of the things inside of her are saying that she wants it, that she must reach it. No matter what, she must.
Antiope does not sleep long, she never does. But the island is inside of her and it is impossible to stay still. She stands and reaches for Theofos, knowing that it rests where it should just behind her shoulder. The ex-warrior trusts nothing on this island, not what she sees nor what she hears, and all that she knows is that every minute she spends within its forests and upon its beaches it becomes more and more of her.
Soon, she will no longer be Antiope at all, but some morph of wild, rampant, strange magic.
The lioness that prowls inside her reminds her that she is some part of that, already.
The air still feels wrong, even when she’s awake, and her sea-blue eyes are alert as she pushes through the trees. The island is alive, somehow, despite the lack of movement. It is alive, deep within its core. Alive with illusion and bewitchment, and she can feel it, the energy. The lioness inside her wants to feast upon it.
The sands are moving when Antiope reaches the beach. They are breathing, swaying, dancing, and still nothing else in the world moves. When the prints first appear, Antiope thinks she is still dreaming. But they disappear into the distance and she brushes them away in the moving sands and nothing is as it appears.
She follows them.
She weaves closer and closer to the center of the island, like it is a maze and there at the heart lies a prize. What the tiger-striped woman had not been expecting was the mass of gathered equines, looking out over what she could only assume was the relic.
The relic, whispers of which spoke only of great power.
The relic, sat there out in the open and not a single one of them trying to take it.
Antiope presses through the crowd like a tiger passes between jungle ferns, the red splashed across her throat a sign. Or a warning. She grasps the handle of Theofos deftly, in preparation. And she knows that in a matter of seconds she could become faster than any of these equines, and in a few minutes could be out of reach of them with the relic in hand.
But the island is inside her, and it is wild and unpredictable. So she steps closer, and closer, and closer, and maybe, just maybe, if one were to look close enough they might see gold leaking into the bright clear blue of her eyes.
Staying, of course!
STAFF EDIT***
@Antiope has rolled a 2! She has been awarded +150 signos.
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
