:: 400+ ♥ Word Count ::
:: OOC ♥ OMG finally Nuki! ::
The drumming of hooves could be heard in the distance and Orin thought she knew who it was before she turned to look. Hopefully it was him, the man she had come to see, her friend. She didn’t want to worry about the other Dreamers or try to explain to them why she was here… again. She was starting to become a permanent fixture of intrusion around these parts. Well, luckily she rarely intruded, but she had been an uninvited visitor a few times lately.
An ear rustled beneath the furred cloak hood that warmed her head, and she turned toward the sound of the gallop. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw him, perched atop the majestic steed he called Vox. He had heard her, and despite leaving their last meeting in anger he still came to her today. She didn’t even realize that part of her thought he would deny her until she felt the relief of seeing him. He came to her with a speed that belied how upset he was with her, even if his voice was cold toward her. How powerful Vox’s hooves were as they beat upon the ground… or was that her heart?
When they reached her, mount and master, and trotted to a halt she closed in the extra space between them. A gust was created from all the movement and in the flurry the hood blew from her head, revealing her strange new hair color. It was dyed pink again… well, at least most of it was… from root to tip it faded from vibrant pink to the straw yellow it was before, the product of a day with her daughter.
How would she start? How would she explain what she was doing here today?
“Mars, it happened again,” her voice caught a snag in her throat and she swallowed awkwardly. “Someone’s been killed in Cercatori d’Arte again. Another… another…” Her vision went red as the bloodbath flashed before her eyes. First the brutal murder of Sky’s puppy, Tameri, and then the literal blood bath when Argul spilled her own son’s blood over her.
She couldn’t say any more. She looked up, searching for the light blue eyes of her bicolored friend. Would he be understanding? Would he care what kind of visions the slaughter brought back to her? His voice had been cold to her again… He had been angry with her the last time they met, and he was probably still angry with her over the news of her engagement. He had rushed off with little more goodbye than a curt telling off. Now she was coming to him for comfort, for help. Was it at all fair?
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