Those words seem to pop up in her head a lot this time of year. Drench has never been Morrigan's favorite season, even if it did bring a little relief to the humidity that shrouded the banks of the Scint. Her usual brisk pace has been interrupted by another squall. The chatter of rain drops against leaves grows louder, into a steady white noise that fades into the back of her mind as the minutes pass. In the distance, thunder rolls.
One... two... three... four... five...
She attempts to take another step, but the once sturdy trail has become soft under the constant drizzle, and it gives way under her weight. The mud sucks at her hooves, weighing her down. She struggles to break free of its heavy grip, a string of curses falling from her lips as she gives a mighty heave forward, practically stumbling face-first into the ground.
"Fuck!" she uncouthly exclaims, stamping a tiny hoof indignantly. "Can't wait for this rain to go away, goddamn..." Under her mask, her nostrils scrunch in disgust, her lips pulling into an ugly sneer that taints her delicate face; it is an unbecoming look. "Is there even anyone here?" Morrigan wonders aloud, moon-white eyes scanning the young pines.
The forest is suspiciously empty, she notes, squinting into the shadows. That comes as a surprise to her, considering the recent influx of new (unwilling) inhabitants. Perhaps they are sticking together? she wonders, which doesn't seem unlikely - she supposes she would do the same if she were forced into another dimension. Still. Overhead, the clouds continue to dominate the sky; the distant rumble of thunder interrupts her thoughts, hinting at what is to come.
One... two... three... four...
((ooc: dead. please excuse this less than stellar post x__x))
in my thoughts i have seen rings of smoke through the trees, & the voices of those who stand looking.
Apparently Otem isn't alone in hiding out beneath the pines to wait out the rain.
As Morrigan's voice wafts towards her, Otem briefly thinks about trying to back away. Her instincts tell her that it's better to be alone than to have to make polite conversation with someone else, but immediately her mind indicates that such a plan might not be possible. The forest is eeriely quiet, and although Otem is good at walking softly, she isn't a ghost. She'll make noise, and the mare will hear. Not only that, but the golden dapples on her coat now glow softly, making her a warm beacon for anyone looking.
"Uhm..." Otem mumbled to herself softly, trying to work up the nerve to actually call out. "Yeah, I am !" She shouted a bit more loudly as she began to slowly walk towards where she thought the voice originated from.
The mare is not at all what Otem had expected. She looked as though she was bordering on starvation - thin limbs and ribs poked out from her sides - but then there were her wings. Or ... what looked like wings. Not wanting to make the mare feel uncomfortable, Otem immediately pulled her eyes away from Morrigan's body and instead tried to find her gaze, offering a polite smile. "Rain, huh?" She tittered almost nervously. On her wither, Pandora looked around the side of Otem's neck towards Morrigan and hooted a polite hello of her own.
"Yeah, I am!" a young feminine voice rings loudly through the silence, interrupting the steady white noise that the rain has made. Morrigan is surprised - she honestly wasn't expecting company. But, she figures, it is better than being alone. The cadaverous woman shifts her eyes towards the filly, a pretty young thing with a coat that glows a warm gold. It sets her soul at ease, for a fleeting moment, but then her gaze flickers over the girl's wings, and she can feel her gut twist with envy. At her sides, the remnants of her once magnificent wings twitch, the whisper of blood-stained feathers drowned out by the tap tap tap of raindrops on leaves. Another rumble of thunder sets her bones vibrating.
The girl seems timid - scared, even. She looks young, which may explain her feeble approach, but even so. Any child of the Rift would not be so meek. After all, this is a place that warps and twist any soul it can sink its teeth into; to survive here, one must be strong. And yet, strength is not the vibe she gets. It both annoys and intrigues her at the same time. But the scale tips when she catches the girl eyeing the limp appendages at her sides, her mood turning sour as the anger prickles her skin like hot needles. The girl inquires about the rain; Morrigan offers only a clipped response: "Yes, it's awful."
A sneer taints her face as she pulls her wings close to her sides in an attempt to make them less visible. She grunts uncomfortably, taking a step further under the tree, looking for more protection than it is seemingly able to give. "What are you doing out here by yourself, anyways, hm?" White eyes flicker towards the filly's wings again - and the envy sinks its claws a little deeper into her core. "Didn't anyone tell you this place is full of monsters?" The same foreboding grin spreads itself across her face, revealing yellowed teeth. "If you're not careful, they might eat you."
(( ooc: sorry for the long wait for such a short post! It looked longer on my word document >__> you can always poke me in the Discord chat if you get impatient :P ))
in my thoughts i have seen rings of smoke through the trees, & the voices of those who stand looking.
At first, Otem thought that despite the mare's strange appearance she seemed nice. At least, as Otem approached the mare's pale eye seemed to survey her not as a predator looking at prey, not like a wolf devising how best to trap a sheep, but just as one soul might look at another who is simply waiting out the storm. But as the oak-marked child pulls her gaze as speedily away from Morrigan's dismantled wings, the mare's countenance changes. Or perhaps it is simply her voice which has the illusory effect of making her look different.
Otem tries not to bristle as the mare sneers, but inside her guard is suddenly up. She does her best to appear just as she had been moments ago - a child, slightly agitated by the presence of this sudden storm. A knife twists in Otem's gut and she wants to spit a respond of, because my mother is dead back at the mare, but she keeps the words down. Instead Otem offers a polite shrug and her face spreads into a youthful smile. "Wouldn't I know it. I've seen monsters in the labyrinth, was nearly trampled by a herd of...well, I'm not actually sure what they were, and have been stabbed-" Otem slid one wing backwards away from her chest to reveal a healing scab that raced across the front of her body and around her shoulder. Because she was young it would likely heal quickly and might not even scar. But for now, it looked every bit the terrible wound that it had been when she first got it.
"But this is the Rift. Not being alone won't save me from monsters."
Morrigan's gaze drops to the wound that she displays, though her critical gaze does not soften. So it seems she has already experienced the hardships that come along with inhabiting a place like the Rift. She finds it difficult to sympathize; part of her wants to spit, 'that's what you get for-' what? For being a child, unfamiliar with the dangerous monsters that lurk in the shadows? 'No, for wandering out alone,' a little voice inside her head hisses. 'Serves her right for wandering away from her parents!' But that seems almost too harsh to say, even for a woman like Morrigan.
So in the end, she settles for a simple, "That's unfortunate."
But the girl's next reply somehow rubs her the wrong way, her skin prickling with aggression. She's clever - that much is very obvious. The sylph-like woman feels slightly threatened by her younger companion now, and she knows why: it is the wholeness of her youthful body, in combination with a sharp mind. It reminds Morrigan of a younger version of herself - a complete version. This girl in front of her is a masterpiece in the works, there isn't a doubt about that. She can already see the magnificence that lies beneath her muscles, and it aggravates her insecurities, her deep inadequacies that gnaw at her soul and leave her with a grossly inflated sense of jealousy.
"Hm. That is true." Her initial reply is short and simple. There is a brief pause before she speaks again, "but there is some truth to the saying, wouldn't you agree? Safety in numbers?" The small talk pains her, but Morrigan figures she can at least keep the conversation going until the storm passes - perhaps then she can be on her way, retreating back into the delicate life of solitude she has built for herself.
in my thoughts i have seen rings of smoke through the trees, & the voices of those who stand looking.
For all of her natural ability to accurately read or perhaps just intuit the emotions of others, she can't quite dissect the look that wisps across Morrigan's face, or the edge to her words. Life hasn't been as cruel to Otem as it has to Morrigan, and so the complexities of jealousy and spite are a bit beyond her ken at this point in her journey. And so, without any emotional data, the young girl merely shrugs her shoulders as the older mare suggests that her trials and tribulations have merely been unfortunate.
"Numbers didn't help us back in Helovia..." The oak-leaf marked child utters under her breath before common sense can zip her lips closed. Immediately Otem's eyes widen in apparent apology and she swallows hard. "Sorry. It's just this place ... it isn't like home at all." Slow comprehension seems to dawn on Otem as the mare asks how long she's been in the Rift. Wouldn't ... wouldn't Morrigan already know that? She's been in the Rift as long as all of the other Helovian's have been in the Rift..
So that means.-"-you're from here?" She burst out, once again before sense could mask her words.
Morrigan feels amused as she watches realization come alive on her younger companion's face, a faint smile tickling her lips. Yet, she is wary, unsure if the reaction taking place before her is genuine. Is she really as awed by this realization as she seems? "Yes, and as you've already figured out, I know that you aren't." The word holds an accusatory tone, one that is hidden beneath a layer of mild disinterest. "I'm frankly surprised you're still alive." A statement that is true - Morrigan is genuinely amazed that the filly is standing before her, having survived this treacherous place with only a measly stab wound to show for it. Most here are lucky if a day passes without something puncturing an organ here or cutting off a leg there.
Slowly, Morrigan lowers her head in order to make eye contact with the girl more easily. "Let me tell you something, child. There are some in this place who will want to take your life, simply for existing here." The words fall from her chilled lips, her breath forming an opaque cloud before her maw. She wonders what the filly is thinking now? Is she scared, the fear seeping through her bones? Or perhaps she is angry, determined to prove the older woman wrong? Whatever it is, she can't really bring herself to care too much. It's a fleeting topic - she hopes.
The rain seems to lighten up for a moment, the clouds above thinning briefly. 'If only the sun would come out.' She pines, aching for the warmth of the filtered rays on her back. But as the freeze approaches, the warmth is sucked from her body and is replaced by the cold that infects every living thing. The least she can do is pray for a mild winter.
Turning her attention back to Otem, Morrigan asks again, "how long have you been here?" She feels slightly displeased, a tinge of annoyance lacing her syllables. She dislikes having to repeat herself - it seems disrespectful not to listen and answer the first time, after all. Looking back, the Portal had not opened too long ago - a month, maybe? - but still the Helovians and foreigners arrived in numbers with each passing day. How long had it been for Otem? No less than a day or two, for sure; but a week, maybe? A fortnight? She is truly curious to know.
in my thoughts i have seen rings of smoke through the trees, & the voices of those who stand looking.
Otem's eyes continue to grow wide as the mare confirms the suspicion she'd only just voiced. Morrigan wasn't the first native Riftian that the young girl had met, but even so, she suddenly seemed like a rare and wonderous thing. She appeared so normal (more or less) and yet now Otem knew that she wasn't. She'd been born here! Cradled and raised by the rift! Morrigan's warnings go relatively unnoticed. As Otem had already said, she'd encountered the Rift at its worst (at least what she thought was its worst) and had survived. Her short-life allowed her to therefore conclude that she could handle herself in this place. And, because of the few gifts the Rift had given her, she also thought that it sort of liked her.
How foolish.
As the question of time is raised, Otem's expression dulls from bright curiosity to a dull confusion. How long had she been here? Not long enough for the wound she sustained on her second night to heal, and yet already so much had happened. How was that possible? Blinking, the filly tried to enumerate the number of times she'd fallen asleep, or the number of sunrises she had seen. Although she could pick out specific instances, they all seemed to vanish in her mind, making it difficult to get a good grasp on just how long ago it had been that the portal had pulled them through.
Her heart still ached for her lost mother..but was that any indication of time? How long did it take for a child's heart to stop yearning for a lost parent?
"A bit.." Otem offered hesitantly, a genuine look of apologetic unknowing spreading across her dirt-coloured features. "This season, though. It was like this when we got here. Are the seasons even the same here? Frostfall, Orangemoon, Tallsun, and Birdsong? This seems like Orangemoon to me..even though it wasn't orangemoon when we left Helovia.." Would it blow the little filly's mind to know that the Rift only had three seasons instead of four? Would Morrigan scoff at her inability to articulate how long they'd been living here, or would she agree that time was a bit slippery, especially in the Rift?
Morrigan is amused by the way Otem reacts to the news of her birthplace. Is it really that hard to believe that life could flourish in the Rift - under the right set of circumstances, at least? Admittedly, the reaction serves as a gentle stroke to the older mare's ego, and she can't help but let a subtle smirk work its way across her features. Of course, her good mood is quickly nixed by Otem's reply.
Orangemoon, Tallsun, Birdsong, all terms the rose-hued mare had never heard before - nor cares to hear again. They are irrelevant, now, aren't they? Morrigan feels a sharp sense of annoyance, like a burr stuck to her fur that she just can't get off. The way her lip curls is such contrast to the smile that previously graced her features. White eyes roll in their sockets, her mood suddenly balancing on a precarious edge. "Who cares about Helovia?" She nearly spits the last word, as if it tastes bitter on her tongue, like a medicine she just cannot bring herself to swallow. "You can't go back, and I'm sure anyone you knew before is dead, or will be soon." The words are harsh, but she cannot bring herself to care, or even apologize. Why sugarcoat such a statement, after all? Surely Otem must learn (or already knows) that this world will not cater to her feelings. "Drench is ending, and soon it will be Freeze - the snow will come and the days will continue to grow short. The predators will grow desperate, I'm sure."
Does Morrigan feel bad for the way she speaks to Otem? Not particularly - she has never been one to sugarcoat things. Besides, why feed into a false sense of security? It will not benefit her in the long run. "You can cry about it if you want, but the reality of the situation is, you're alone, in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by monsters you never knew existed, with winter quickly approaching." She states matter-of-factly, looking down her nose with a critical gaze. Sure, Otem has done well so far - but how long will her luck run before something - or someone - comes along and ends it? Part of Morrigan almost feels bad for her - a shallow sense of pity settles itself in her chest, a subtle tug that makes her clench her jaw and look away. Will Otem survive on her own, or will her name join the list of others that have perished at the hands of the Rift?
"Be honest with yourself. Do you really think you can make it?"
(( ooc: sorry for the wait and now the sucky post ;___; ))
Siren's Summit
