(341) I don't think they have either :o Don't mind Salvia, she is rude. And feel free to mention Omitl running into Abendrot (Sal's lynx) if she goes north--he mostly hunts up there :3
In the end, the war had won out. The war was the truth of the world because the war was everything. It was the struggle to survive, to hunt and kill and feast upon the dead. It was the squirrel-cage of self, where reason and logic combated the baser and more complex grounds of sentiment and green-eyed monsters. There was only the war, and for Salvia, this was a greater chain than the dwarf-woven rope that had bound her to Sirius.
So because she was not willing to face the great blackness that grew in her heart, she froze it out. Outwardly thrusting her doubt and her mind’s inability to settle she worked. She trained hard with weapons and without, hunted ferociously, and even worked with the animals in ways she had not before. That was what had dragged her out to the pen and to the silver-gray mare that even now sought to rebel. Salvia accepted none of this. If there was to be war, she would see it through and she would end it. Boreas had left its mark upon her breast, and deeper still, to that icy thing that was her heart.
The horse wheeled, whinnying, and Salvia saw a dark shape near the fenceline. She used this to steer the horse, drive her back, and after an impossibly long wait, the dappled mare stilled under her. It was not surrender in full, but it was enough. Salvia urged her around the ring once, towards the far gate, and there dismounted. Once off the horse, the mare’s demeanor changed—she now fell in line, eager to be free of the saddle and burden of tack. Hair windswept and eyes alight with radiant neon flame, Salvia looked to her sister. She said nothing; it had been a long time since she had seen (or smelt) Harrow, and the spicy-sweet scent of their mother was all over the girl. A faint line was drawn, even now, to be remembered and noted. Even now, war was never far from her thoughts.
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