Dragoncrest Cliffs Fresh out of an icky gooey womb

Sobo followed the river away from Roja Den toward Mossbloom, searching for @Rosalyn.

In his mouth, the boy carried a tiny yellow daffodil. The pervasive summer heat had taken its toll, giving rise to small blooms that wilted easily. Nevertheless, Sobo carried it as if it was the most precious flower ever conceived. He pinched its drooping stalk carefully in his front teeth and walked slowly to avoid bouncing it too much.

Mami was often even more busy than manman, but Sobo hoped he might share a little of his early afternoon with her. It seemed he spent more time with Erzulie, but imprinted in his subconscious were the vestiges of his earliest memories, where Rosalyn’s presence roused him more than anyone’s. He missed her more, he thought, than Erzulie or even Njord when they were away. She was wise in a different way, and he loved to learn from her.

Unaware that she was someone's target, Rosalyn watched the river carefully, stalking along it's edge. She had found nothing yet this morning and was about to give up... but only a short while longer. Perhaps all of the creatures within had decided to make a day of it on the beach. Or perhaps your pacing is scaring them off, she thought ruefully. Truthfully, this was not one of her stronger suits. She was far more used to scavenging the shores or hunting the forests.

There would be no luck today. Rosalyn heaved a sigh and turned, cutting a lazy path back towards the border. One final circuit and then she would grab lunch elsewhere. Except that she soon saw the young shape of one of their children, carrying something and coming to greet her.

Rosalyn smiled as she recognized Sobo. Now where was he heading so eagerly? She adjusted her trajectory to meet him, approaching in the same sedate manner. It was hot, not much of a day for rushing around.

Sobo visibly brightened when he found the dark brown pelt of his mother, hastening forward with excited tippy-taps of his paws on the river rocks. He beamed up into her scarred face and placed the daffodil down at her feet, wiggling with the strength of his whipping tail.

Hi mami, he greeted breathlessly, all sunny smiles and gratitude for her time. I brought you this, it maked me think of your eyes! Small and wilty though it was, it was the colour to which Sobo referred.

Around those yellow eyes were the marks of many past conflicts. Like Haunt, Rosalyn was missing part of her ear. Her son never noticed before, but now he traced the contours of each scar with eyes blooming yellow in the middle. Abruptly, he asked, wha happened to you, mami? Does it hurt? She'd always worn these scars — they did not frighten him — but he was learning about injuries, now, and had to wonder.

He was going to grow up to be quite the charmer, if he kept these tricks up! She leaned down to sniff it and nodded appreciatively. It's beautiful. As if he'd brought her the finest rose. She was touched; with Erzulie, it had been a long time since she had felt less than beautiful, but reminders always hit in a way now that they may not have when she was a vain youth.

She was surprised by his question, and it took her a moment. She'd not been in any recent fights and had no fresh wounds - ah. He wished to know about her scars.

Some of these stories were not for children, but he could know a bit. She had shared the same with others of theirs, once they reached an age to understand. This place, these cliffs, were once a stronghold. And your mami was once a captive of theirs, a long time ago. They were a fierce band of warriors, but no match for your maman and I. That is how I got these. She lifted a paw to the ruined side of her face, a sight she rarely thought on. Truthfully she barely noted the blind side either... she'd learned to compensate naturally by ear and head turn.

Perhaps this could help to dress them up? She asked, touching the flower with a smile and looking at him. She'd keep her head down so that, if he wished, he could tuck the flower where he wanted.

Rosalyn seemed pleased about the flower, which made Sobo giggle and bashfully shuffle his paws on the bank. Then he plopped back on his bottom to listen to his mamá's story. It was simplified down from the terrible and arduous affair it had been in truth, just enough for a little boy to be able to follow along. Someone took his mom and hurt her once, but manman and mami triumphed over the evildoers.

When she lowered her head, he was quick to scoot forward and try to place the flower up where the tattered remains of her missing ear were. He tilted back, appraising his work. It wouldn't hold for long, not on these sea-swept cliffs, but that didn't matter. Sobo thought it was a lovely addition, not that Rosalyn could be much more beautiful in his boyish eyes.

Wha be a captive? he asked, tasting the word with a little wrinkle of his nose. He suspected it was nothing good, and while he listened raptly to Rosalyn's story there at the riverside with the flower tucked neatly into her ear-hole, he learned that captives were a vile concept indeed, and dreamt of captives that night, and vowed to himself never to be so barbaric.