03-14-2009, 01:00 AM
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500+
The woad marked female merely gave a curt nod in understanding to the mahogany woman. So this was Svara’s mother. It was strange, the female thought suddenly, that so many families were being reunited within these Dahlian boarders. And yet, most reunions were met with dislike, even hate. And the warrior could not understand it. To the warrior, it was as if the enemy had been lead in through the front door. And these slow parasites of hate and fear were slowly eating at the joints of the pack’s being. And yet, despite this the pack continued to hold strong. And this was yet again strange to the warrior, almost miraculous.
But the woman continued to be confused, her words slow, cautious, as if not quite understanding. When the wheat eyed woman claimed that she had last seen her daughter at the pack meeting, the woad woman could not understand. “Haven’t you?” And that alto melody was quiet, questioning. What was going on? And the warrior could not know that the female had been under the influence of narcotics, for she herself had never used such poisons of the body, and it had never occurred to the warrior that such a thing were the case here. All she knew was that something was not quite right. And she could not place it. She sensed no immediate deception within the female before her, but she planned to find out.
Those wheat hued eyes beheld the weapon before her, and the woad banded ears pricked forward as Sabeen admitted to its familiarity. “It should be,” the black fae said quietly, but her tone was ambiguous. Cwmfen fell silent as the older woman closed her eyes to reminisce upon the blade’s origin. But time at which the other claimed to have seen it was not what the warrior was looking for. Time, it seemed, continued to regress for Sabeen Thames, or else it did not exist. The female did not know which it was. The Adonis was silent for a moment, her head tilted slightly as her fierce gaze met those wheat coloured eyes. Her gaze was heavy, calculating, questioning in her silence. That feeling that something was not quite right continued to itch at the warrior’s intuition, and her senses were heightened as if she were walking into a battlefield. But finally the female broke that silence, and the alto melody was sung roughly.
“Can you still not recall, Sabeen Thames?” The white orbs were unrelenting as they held the gaze of the other with a fierce ease. For a moment, that gaze was broken as her eyes flickered down and up the mother’s form, covered with the scent of her daughter’s blood. The same blood that was upon the blade. The hand that held the weapon fell to her side. “She was attacked within the Dahlian boarders—by a Dahlian. Her sight has been taken and shall never be regained.” There was a pause as if the Warrior Adonis were expecting something. “Do you not smell what I so keenly smell upon you?”
The woad marked female merely gave a curt nod in understanding to the mahogany woman. So this was Svara’s mother. It was strange, the female thought suddenly, that so many families were being reunited within these Dahlian boarders. And yet, most reunions were met with dislike, even hate. And the warrior could not understand it. To the warrior, it was as if the enemy had been lead in through the front door. And these slow parasites of hate and fear were slowly eating at the joints of the pack’s being. And yet, despite this the pack continued to hold strong. And this was yet again strange to the warrior, almost miraculous.
But the woman continued to be confused, her words slow, cautious, as if not quite understanding. When the wheat eyed woman claimed that she had last seen her daughter at the pack meeting, the woad woman could not understand. “Haven’t you?” And that alto melody was quiet, questioning. What was going on? And the warrior could not know that the female had been under the influence of narcotics, for she herself had never used such poisons of the body, and it had never occurred to the warrior that such a thing were the case here. All she knew was that something was not quite right. And she could not place it. She sensed no immediate deception within the female before her, but she planned to find out.
Those wheat hued eyes beheld the weapon before her, and the woad banded ears pricked forward as Sabeen admitted to its familiarity. “It should be,” the black fae said quietly, but her tone was ambiguous. Cwmfen fell silent as the older woman closed her eyes to reminisce upon the blade’s origin. But time at which the other claimed to have seen it was not what the warrior was looking for. Time, it seemed, continued to regress for Sabeen Thames, or else it did not exist. The female did not know which it was. The Adonis was silent for a moment, her head tilted slightly as her fierce gaze met those wheat coloured eyes. Her gaze was heavy, calculating, questioning in her silence. That feeling that something was not quite right continued to itch at the warrior’s intuition, and her senses were heightened as if she were walking into a battlefield. But finally the female broke that silence, and the alto melody was sung roughly.
“Can you still not recall, Sabeen Thames?” The white orbs were unrelenting as they held the gaze of the other with a fierce ease. For a moment, that gaze was broken as her eyes flickered down and up the mother’s form, covered with the scent of her daughter’s blood. The same blood that was upon the blade. The hand that held the weapon fell to her side. “She was attacked within the Dahlian boarders—by a Dahlian. Her sight has been taken and shall never be regained.” There was a pause as if the Warrior Adonis were expecting something. “Do you not smell what I so keenly smell upon you?”