Hotaru
What if we're all just sleeping satellites
Why do we drift so far from home
Why do we drift so far from home
With the twins aged and intent on taking the Greatwood by storm, some measure of freedom has been awarded to their mother once more. A freedom she had not missed or ached for, but which she appreciates all the same once granted. There is a comfort to the knowledge that they are safer in their numbered years than they were as infants, and less of a burden upon Vai as well. So when Deimos' letter comes as promised (and there is relief there, too, that it did come despite their last meeting) she kisses her children and departs on wings made strong by Sunjata's teachings.
The Feverlands are relatively unknown to her, aside from the accidental trip she'd taken with Wessex. It's a bittersweet memory now. Made all the more so after her last encounter with the woman.
Deimos is not so recognizable from above as Zuriel and Belial, whose larger forms are a giveaway as to who the man is between them. Hotaru dives, tawny feathers rippling in the heated, acrid air until the bond is not so thinly stretched. Circling low, she crests as close to Deimos as she dares, an avian burble of a greeting resonating in her throat as she swoops by over his shoulder and farther down the path. And then from the haze the woman emerges, far more put together than last he'd seen her and with trademark vixen smile pulling at her lips. "I know you can't be tired of the snow, so what brings us here?" Gentle jibe that is offered like an olive branch, whose leaves strain and tendrils curl, trying to ascertain where they stand.
The Feverlands are relatively unknown to her, aside from the accidental trip she'd taken with Wessex. It's a bittersweet memory now. Made all the more so after her last encounter with the woman.
Deimos is not so recognizable from above as Zuriel and Belial, whose larger forms are a giveaway as to who the man is between them. Hotaru dives, tawny feathers rippling in the heated, acrid air until the bond is not so thinly stretched. Circling low, she crests as close to Deimos as she dares, an avian burble of a greeting resonating in her throat as she swoops by over his shoulder and farther down the path. And then from the haze the woman emerges, far more put together than last he'd seen her and with trademark vixen smile pulling at her lips. "I know you can't be tired of the snow, so what brings us here?" Gentle jibe that is offered like an olive branch, whose leaves strain and tendrils curl, trying to ascertain where they stand.
Why do we wake ourselves from paradise
Where we will never be alone
Where we will never be alone
