She tends to be silent a moment too long during fluid bantering and then say too much when less should be said. She listens to the wailing of rain and distant thunder. There’s the trees, and the animals, the clouded sky, the lake dug up from the depths of the ground—a serene place tainted by the lulling voice of sirens, the Rift's allée of pine trees whose shadows intermingle with the vena lilies on the surface of that lake and the rain, and the distorted mirror-image of everything above it.
She has this sensation that her hooves and body don’t belong to her at all, that something else besides her brain and muscles is moving her body parts, something bigger and stronger than herself, an invisible puppetmaster over whom she has no control. She feels as though it’s this same puppetmaster that now forces her to lower her head slightly, her eyes narrowing to small slits, and her ears to flatten backwards wholy, a warning glance, unappreciating of his comment about how she has faired (despite knowing what he says is very true). She had been so free and open with him in their last encounter, but this version of herself would never allow that.
It is possible that he would chalk Aurelia's spark and intrigue from their last meeting to pregnancy hormones, but in truth she wasn't that way because of pregnancy hormones.. she's just genuinely insane.
This world was twisted and backwards and confusing and was in no way a place horses should be living, but alas, they were all here and they had no true intent to leave. This land clearly did not want them. The balls of hope, the violent fights that forced hope onto others that didn't want it, the constant struggle to stay alive, the deadly animals and plants, the lack of herds or bands, everything. "Fuck the Rift," was all she could say.
Once more, she spun away from him and began walking directly into the siren-infested waters. She was not worried about the sirens, why would they want a broodmare who's only passion was destruction? She cackles as she thinks quietly to herself, the water lapping at her flank when her wings unfurl, delving into the cool liquid. The rain and the water have tried their best to clean her body, but the scars and wear-and-tear cannot be removed with a simple bath.
"So," she begins, her head twisting backwards to look at him. "Who kicked your ass?" A lopsided smirk crawls onto her lips, finding humor in his bloody body. It wasn't just a fight, but it insteaed seemed like annhiliation. Aurelia was chaos and destruction- the amount of fights she has picked was impressive. She knew what defeat looked like- she'd experienced it numerous times. He stunk of it.
Siren's Summit
