08-17-2009, 03:38 PM
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500+
At the sound of her lover’s name, the woad bound ears lifted, pressing forward as if to hear a sound that was familiar and yet too distant. But that familiar and distant name was soon followed by that of her father. For a moment, the woman grew still as the water does when the wind has died. But, as with the dying wind, the stillness was fleeting. "Yes," the soft melody replied. Onus had told her only afterwards of his discussion with the Rosea, and, although he had not gone into great detail, the black fae had known that such words would have been exchanged. "I failed that night," the soft melody explained, those tones ringing as if she were noting the presence of deer. And perhaps, for the black fae, the darkness of that night had merely been the result of her own physical inadequacies. There was conflict within the warrior’s soul, a conflict of contentment and discontentment.
There was a brief silence. "If Onus had not come, I would not be here today." The white orbs watched the Rosea with quiet eyes as she admitted verbally what had only been said with silence. "But whatever would have happened that day, Corvus would have left." And those white eyes remembered the promise she had made to the Rosea after Ril’o’s death. Her own life was insignificant in magnitude of the world, and the world would not have taken notice had she died. She walked only upon that preordained path, doing as she knew that she must and knowing still that things could not be changed. Her only regret in dying would have been to leave Onus. He had lived life alone just as she, and he, just as she, had been content with such a thing. But she had made love with him, and the solitude now was not enough—at least it no longer seemed to be for the woad marked fae. And yet, now, she must continue to cause him pain by the bearing of the lives within her.
A faint smile flickered across her lips, but she was silent as she had been silent in these past two moons. Cwmfen nodded, believing that, at least for a moment, Dahlia would be able to breathe. She did not think that a new threat would arise, but she did not discard the possibility. And, if she could, she would do what she must for her pack, and she would do it because her passion for war was as great as her love of Onus. But she knew that she could not be there all the time. Not yet. The warrior nodded. "I will." The woad-marked fae knew, however, that she could protect them only if she could protect herself. The protection of the pack required the same thing. And so, when the warrior could move once more as the wind and the water, she would strive to regain what was lost and to gain what had not been gained before. As with all, there was always room for improvement. Even with her. Defeat was the only way in which to better oneself.
"I need only your patience," the soft melody replied, an indiscernible smile of silver touching her lips. That was all that she felt she could ask or demand of Cercelee. Already the Dahlian leader had much with which to deal, and Cwmfen did not wish to burden her. The black fae was not accustom to requiring the care of others. Even her dependence upon Onus made her uncomfortable, for his purpose was not in the caring of her. She knew, however, when she did indeed require such aid, and she could accept it when given. But from the snowy woman, she desired only patience.
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At the sound of her lover’s name, the woad bound ears lifted, pressing forward as if to hear a sound that was familiar and yet too distant. But that familiar and distant name was soon followed by that of her father. For a moment, the woman grew still as the water does when the wind has died. But, as with the dying wind, the stillness was fleeting. "Yes," the soft melody replied. Onus had told her only afterwards of his discussion with the Rosea, and, although he had not gone into great detail, the black fae had known that such words would have been exchanged. "I failed that night," the soft melody explained, those tones ringing as if she were noting the presence of deer. And perhaps, for the black fae, the darkness of that night had merely been the result of her own physical inadequacies. There was conflict within the warrior’s soul, a conflict of contentment and discontentment.
There was a brief silence. "If Onus had not come, I would not be here today." The white orbs watched the Rosea with quiet eyes as she admitted verbally what had only been said with silence. "But whatever would have happened that day, Corvus would have left." And those white eyes remembered the promise she had made to the Rosea after Ril’o’s death. Her own life was insignificant in magnitude of the world, and the world would not have taken notice had she died. She walked only upon that preordained path, doing as she knew that she must and knowing still that things could not be changed. Her only regret in dying would have been to leave Onus. He had lived life alone just as she, and he, just as she, had been content with such a thing. But she had made love with him, and the solitude now was not enough—at least it no longer seemed to be for the woad marked fae. And yet, now, she must continue to cause him pain by the bearing of the lives within her.
A faint smile flickered across her lips, but she was silent as she had been silent in these past two moons. Cwmfen nodded, believing that, at least for a moment, Dahlia would be able to breathe. She did not think that a new threat would arise, but she did not discard the possibility. And, if she could, she would do what she must for her pack, and she would do it because her passion for war was as great as her love of Onus. But she knew that she could not be there all the time. Not yet. The warrior nodded. "I will." The woad-marked fae knew, however, that she could protect them only if she could protect herself. The protection of the pack required the same thing. And so, when the warrior could move once more as the wind and the water, she would strive to regain what was lost and to gain what had not been gained before. As with all, there was always room for improvement. Even with her. Defeat was the only way in which to better oneself.
"I need only your patience," the soft melody replied, an indiscernible smile of silver touching her lips. That was all that she felt she could ask or demand of Cercelee. Already the Dahlian leader had much with which to deal, and Cwmfen did not wish to burden her. The black fae was not accustom to requiring the care of others. Even her dependence upon Onus made her uncomfortable, for his purpose was not in the caring of her. She knew, however, when she did indeed require such aid, and she could accept it when given. But from the snowy woman, she desired only patience.