she's spent the morning with
@Dragomir, somewhat worried that he'll manage to hunt something before her. the odds are in his favour, but following him around gets boring, quickly, and so she searches instead for Aure. the skies are grey and heavy and rumbly, and she hopes wildly that this will result in a storm - she's concluded that they're her absolute favourite weather. sometimes, light will fork down and strike something, but she knows that'll never be her. she assumes the lightning is the result of the sun's anger, being covered up by clouds and the like, but she finds it thrilling.
she blunders into the rendezvous, tail perked upright with the exciting potential of the thunderstorm. she peers owlishly into the den, hoping she'll fine momma there.
The cave she had found was a shelf within the mountain, cut at a higher elevation rather than being so tethered to the ground. It’d have been used as quarantine for the sick in Rhaesuial, but Aure had ended up confining herself to its dim quarters all the same. At the scent of iron humming on the air, the herbalist promptly balked and retreated to the den where she lay within now.
Home. Never before had she doubted such a word; Diaspora wasn’t it, not after the previous congregation. Home was Verx, with his sea he couldn’t ever keep from — Was that how the color’d gotten into his eyes? Home was their children, too. Without him here, though, she’d felt their little family was so evidently incomplete. Our children need their father. And I need you, ai niron.
At the sound of skythrum, Aurëwen gathered herself up into a sit. A storm, soon to come? Her lashes fluttered as she returned to herself, and so it was she finally noted Isilmë at the mouth of the den. “Man-ie, míriel?” Unbidden, a tender smile graced scarred lips, eyes even morseo, and the silver rose to where her daughter waited. “What is it, jewel of my life?”
her mother rose and drew near, and Isi's tail began a staccato beat. she did not know how to articulate that the coming storm filled her with excitement and equal measure of impatience, and she could not stand to simply wait around for it, and so she said with great emphasis, "bored." in most cases, she would have immediately attempted to instigate a play fight, but she was feeling fidgety and decidedly unbitey. and so, her gaze was hawkish while she waited for the answer to her unrest from her mother as quickly as possible.
sobs sorry for the wait ;a;
Her tone was wry consideration, and the silver peered down as such unto her little girl — a little girl whose eyes were already level to her feathery bust. As with Drago, she was sure it wouldn’t be long before both of her babes overwhelmed her entirely; a few moons, even, at best.
Her stores didn’t need much restocking, she thinks, but the Pionier supposes it won’t be so terrible to check the herbararies nearby once more.
“Vrei să fii cu mine până când se va face furtună?” Aure inquired, a trilling tease in her voice; already she was moving from the lair and into the iron-suffusing air. Darkness from above blotted the remnants of the day’s light, but the herbalist easily made the descent from their cave.