yön laulaja

^^
The night had proven to be full of restless energy for Eira. His thoughts often traveled to his twin, Fiia, and his family. It was strange to have never spent a day without them in it to suddenly be transported to some other place through some bizarre means. He wondered if his family assumed the worst about them - if the losses experienced in his father's younger days would spiral into worries over his son. Surely they wouldn't consider it abandonment. Not from him. Eira drew in a deep breath and then let it out in a slow gust from his nose and attempted to compose himself.

Eira found a spot he felt was far enough away from anyone's resting space - well aware that there were a number of youth needing to sleep after all - and focused himself on trying to ground himself before he panicked. His voice broke the silence around him, the mist swirling along his dusted paws, and though he sang softly it was clear and pure. A song from his childhood, one that seemed more positive. One he hoped would bring him positivity too.

He didn't even notice @Riannon approaching and never heard her soft footsteps.

^^

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[narrow width=800]the days of kekri were almost upon the vale.

she has dreamed in dust and sacrificial memory of the ivory twists of bones and eyeless sockets; felt the ache of demented, damnable silence and the touch of old stone and offerings gone to rot.

it has grown cold, and will be colder; and she will have to unfeather their resting place to lie down pelts for those precious heads to rest upon. but there is so much that has left her wanting, sorely unfulfilled, unbrimming at her own seams. she still does not know how long it'd been since she'd been refashioned and set to shore but it feels like forever, like too much to bear so the nightingale forsakes her stonebed fringed with children and marches out into the mists. forces her mind to quiet, to silence as she allows herself to, for now, wander without aim; without the so many that accompany her, accost her thoughts. remind her and reject her.

until she hears the rose blooming in the dark, and her paws decide on a new, unbidden path before she can take her next breath. ...but when she is quite near enough to hear, she realizes  ( very, very belatedly )  that she does not know the folk songs of her warlord's people; only what ahti had filled her head with in exchange for working his way to make everything within hers come to life.

supposedly.

so the sotaherra sits, temple pressed to bark; leaning against a silverflame larch's trunk as she resigns to merely listening and to the idea that perhaps the words of gods are indeed none the greater than what the grounded themselves have to say.[/narrow]

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