His sister does not really react to his presence, and he blinks slightly in surprise. His ideas about whisking her off to talk are momentarily shelved, and despite his usual obliviousness, he realises that it may be best to leave her alone for now. There's also an element of him not wanting to have to cut out searching for Otem from his routine - that counts as a deviation, and the volcano boy does not react well with those. If he continues to seek her out to talk to her, then he can keep that valuable part of his day. With his mind made up, he walks away from his sister without a backwards glance. It may look callous or rude to do so, but neither of these things occur to him - he's simply thinking that he will find her another day to have their talk, and that until then he can carry on searching for her as he has done every day up until now. He is about to leave alone when he catches sight of his father, and moves to fall into step behind the older man. It does not escape his notice that he's now tall enough to look his sire in the eye, a sign that he'll probably end up outgrowing the ebony warlord. Normally he'd remark on such a thing regardless of how he might offend his father, but he's too distracted today to be able to do so. "Father," comes his greeting in his predictably monotone voice. "I will walk with you." He falls into step next to the skull-faced man, and leaves the area by his side. |
Father! The voice bids him to turn even as he's about to take his leave now he's sure that there's nothing else likely to happen. It is Vulkán, gangling towards him with his usual inelegance. The boy has grown up well, and his size doesn't escape his sire's eagle eye. It's likely that the colt will grow to be the same size as Isopia, which means he'll be the first of Volterra's children to be able to look down at his esteemed father. This prickles the warlord's pride more than it probably should do, although he's safe in the knowledge that his son doesn't carry himself in a way that makes the most of his great size - the big yearling is awkward in everything he does, as though he's ashamed of being so tall. That's a stark contrast to Volterra with his easy, predatory grace, owning every blade of grass that he stands upon. He resists the urge to comment on the boy's stride, instead just nodding and allowing his son to fall into step with him. "Ah, Vulkán, yes. I've been meaning to speak with you." He intends to speak to Otem and Vulkán alone in the near future, but reasons that he should prioritise the bay colt for now as he's already bumped into Otem several times, whereas Vulkán has been largely absent. "Meet me here at sundown tomorrow." He knows how organised the bay is, how much he needs specific times - Volterra will have to be careful not to be late else he throw the poor lad's zen completely out of whack. With his son lumbering along next to him, the warlord takes his leave from this new, eerie place. |
Take just what I came for
|
So we could build a playground you'd be so proud of what we've made
I s k r A but he's caught in the |
The pining returned as Iskra swept her up into a boisterous, ebullient hug (tears clawed just behind her eyes, and she blinked them away, quickly, because it shouldn’t have been painful to enjoy precious time with one’s friends) – she smiled and laughed too, allowed it to echo, to buoy, probably where it didn’t belong. This wasn’t the time or the place to revive play and antics, but lord, how she longed to, if merely to forget the war waging on around them. She felt him stiffen beside her as bedlam howled again, and the mere, trifle diversion was gone again – sudden, another ghost in a series of poignant, haunting memories. It wasn’t fair. None of this was.
We should be back in the sands. Iskra should have his mother back. Otem should have her mother back. Everything should be normal. But they couldn’t. It wasn’t an option anymore.
The honeybee girl didn’t want to listen to the commands of Kaos. The urge to curl her lips and draw back a sneer, some boisterous, bold movement, motion, comment towards the beast bombarded her senses; ferocious, unyielding, fierce – it harked and it coiled, wrapped itself around her heart and dug in. But there was naught more she could do – so the girl thought better of it, swerved her gaze so it filtered on Otem, on Iskra, on Pippigrin, instead of the conniving beast beckoning orders. She wondered if Iskra’s grin hid something deeper then, as he nudged her away, as he shuffled them back into the folds of darkness. Did he want to conquer their new foe too, lurk in the shadows, bide his time, or agree, do as the false God commanded? “Okay,” Melita whispered back, despite the fact that she wanted to do everything but listen (and why – why did Iskra do as he said, when that beast had been the one to destroy his mother?). She bit the inquiries back, smothered everything down below, into her pockets of stones and forbearance, funneled and followed, traipsing into throngs of chaos, and remembered a brighter world where they didn’t have to plot, didn’t have to scheme, didn’t have to foil elaborate ruses – when they’d been children, allowed moments to grow, to thrive, to blossom.
So we could build a playground you'd be so proud of what we've made
I s k r A but he's caught in the |
He quieted again though, easygoing Iskra, never wishing to plague or burden others, and she shook her head at his apology; it’d been entirely unnecessary. “Don’t be. Everything will be all right.” Then little Melita smiled, bore the widest, silliest grin she could, hoping to alleviate the shroud, the veil, of uncertainty chasing after all of them. When the subject changed, to exploring, as if it wasn’t one more creation of chaos tethering their souls, she elaborated on their choices (like they had any). “How about a forest?” Then, cheeky and defiant all over again, a role she kept slipping into with little difficulty, she leaped and bounded into the abyss, plunging right back into mayhem’s reaches, thrown straight into Kaos’ bidding.
No one seemed that eager to press on into the mist. Erthë did not blame them, she was wary too of what might lay beyond those fog-laden hills and vales she could so barely make out before the whiteness took over and clouded the view. Small, woolen ears seemed fixed in a backwards, irritable expression as she listened to the babble around her, her own attention focused more on Kaos than any of the others that milled about. There were familiar faces there, revealing the presence of ones she knew and loved, but beyond a twinge of relief and a slight lessening of her burden of grief at the sight of them, the little mare did not acknowledge them. Even Tilney, when the good doctor approached and spoke to her, did not get more than a nod and a faint smile.
There would be time for talking later, when Kaos was gone, when the most immediate danger had passed and it was time to settle down and decide what to do with this place, and with herself, and with the rage and grief that still burned like a cold flame in her heart.
Kisamoa screamed then, like a child throwing a tantrum, and the pale mare found herself flinching away from the self-proclaimed god, fear and loathing twisting her features as she glared back at him. Without so much as a word, she turned and walked off, not towards the new vistas but back south to the familiar regions around the Portal. It was a small rebellion, she knew, but a rebellion none the less. Disobedience, dereliction of duty, defiance... call it what you will, she was not going to follow orders as if she was his creature to lord over and command.
She was not. Erthë's love went to the pale moon and the deep darkness of midnight, to the coiling mist and the four winds, her allegiance was to a dead goddess and a dead world, and the brave dead who had given up their lives to defend it. If Kaos wanted anything besides hatred from her he would have to repay her a hundred times over for what he had taken, and it still would not be enough. She would not forget, would not forgive, no matter how pretty he made this place or how well he treated the cowards and traitors who bent their wills to his.
Oh, Erthë would explore this world, and she would learn, and she would use all of what she discovered against him. But it would all be in her own time. And right now, all she wanted was to be gone from this place, before she lost control and spoke her true mind and brought more death down upon her kin.
So she left.
I'm on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell