Phoenix Maplewood entschlossen

for what feels like the longest of time, slow pulsing blood beneath a bruise; aching, praimfaya is met with silence. she doesn’t expect to be forgiven — a process that already feels familiar to her from her efforts to rebuild what she had burned with hydra and moonspear — and yet he gives it to her anyway. or, if not forgiveness; he at least accepts her apology and it is a tentative start. she might be a commander by birth; accepted by her people thru her sadgeda but mahler is right. she is young and has been without a proper teacher for too long. blodreina’s death, ingram’s …dacio’s — each sparked the fiery hurricane living beneath her breast and left it to go wild. it is hard, though, for her to accept teachings when she, as most young are wont to do, feels like she knows how to handle situations.

yet, clearly; she is still in need of guidance.

she has proven it to herself time and time again.

i know. what kind of force of nature could she be if her potential was honed into a weapon refined and less wild? she hurts and grieves and lets the wild in her take over because it is easier. easier, but not wiser. too easy to lash out and hurt wolves she does not mean to. i know. she says again, quieter still. it both burns like ash in her mouth and fills her with a swell of relief to admit what she's known about herself all along.