(413) Would you mind if we backdated this sliiightly? Say April ~22 - 24? If that works for you. C:
Eris is by Savannah!
It had rained last night, just before dawn broke. Eris had been awake, gazing listlessly out of her ruins and into the dark world beyond when the clouds broke, bringing with them a torrent of thick rain. Though this downpour soon tapered into a more slight precipitation, the rains had not let up until well past the morning. The day was long, gray, and dull, as were all since Larkspur died and perhaps Harrow, too. Eris had retreated some hours ago into the more private region of her den, when the rains stopped and Salsolians were more likely to come calling.
I had not realized -- I could not have known -- why didn't I -- Her thoughts died midway through, ever unfinished. There were no words she knew in this language to describe the rotten ache that had permeated her since her mate's death. Though she had not slept the previous night, when Imhotep came to her door, the sable-shaded woman was still mostly awake, buried in the underbelly of her den. Even her daughters were going, moving off, slowly becoming adults. She'd given away the Salvador child, and only Amini kept her company. Even now the small cat curled up around her head, little paws kneading into the dark woman's head as she half-dozed.
The sable-hued woman debated ignoring the foreigner entirely, for she was in no mood for anyone's consolation -- those she might have wanted had their own lives to attend to, and she did not begrudge her remaining daughters their budding independence. They were not altogether absent from the sable woman's life, in any case -- it was not as with Wretch. Drawing a breath of the stale den air, the dark woman opened her chartreuse eyes and climbed from the den. Though her private quarters could fit a crouched Luperci, the small opening was not as comfortable in the two-legged form, and Eris seemed to prefer the natural form these days, shade of her tiny corner of the ruins she was.
Come in, she commanded, pale eyes glancing to the hunkering figure of Sandalio. The owl opened one brilliantly gold eye, glaring at the both of them for interrupting his sleep. He shat -- which, to Eris's faint relief, missed Imhotep entirely -- and promptly went back to sleep. The dark woman did not even offer the surly bird a scowl as she might have normally, only glowered toward the golden canine expectantly.
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