[m] there is a two-fold silence

Talitha de le Poer · 06-06-2011, 02:20 AM

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Grieving Talitha to the rescue, albeit in a poor post.

Color the dark siren surprised to hear the demanding call of her vagabond wolfdog; it'd only been days since their last encounter, and she had been so sure that Inferni would ward away the advances of the blue-furred Winters man she'd captured the heart of. Her features twisted into those of irritation, paint staining her hands as she continued her work upon the half-broken skull in her lap; he would simply have to wait. If it was truly important, she knew the man would be there when she finished her work. With the limited sunlight left, every moment was imperative to the creation.

As she worked, foreboding tugged at the back of her mind, and it wasn't long before she gave up on completion of the item in order to make her way toward the borders. Caillen deserved his audience with the Princess, and she did not want him caught by sentries of the clan. Long strides carried her quickly across greening earth, the distinctive sashay of the abrasive Optio making it clear who was answering the call. It was the scent of something frightfully familiar that made her pause; rusted metallic hit her nose, faint on the breeze, and her apathy transformed into a facade of worry. The pace was increased, from languid walk to fervent jog, all in the hopes that her suspicions were wrong.

The scene she entered was confusing at first. Crimson eyes surveyed the ground, falling both upon the handsome wolfdog and the golden brother-King who kept her close to the kingdom, and she found no words to voice the question that was pounding in her brain. What had happened? She approached cautiously; men, in their feverish frenzies, were something to be feared and oh, how she feared the savages that warriors became. The damage was clear enough — Caillen had suffered the worst of whatever battle had occurred between them, but Ezekiel also wore bloodied fur. It was her mad, mad Romeo who was to be worried over first.

"Caillen." A single word spoken into the air as the princess crumbled, allowing her body to sink into the ground as one delicate hand sought the paw of her lover. Something entirely unfamiliar dragged down the de le Poer's heart into the pit of her stomach. What had Ezekiel done? It took longer to notice the antler-knife that protruded unpleasantly from the plush fur of his chest; that was focused on first by the woman as she worked to remove it with some attempt at care. The blood that flowered forth did not ease the fragile emotions of the Aquila's sister — unwilling to show the weakness of grieving to the golden man, Talitha brought her lover's hand to rest upon one cream-furred cheek.

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