tau.
unfamiliar with the standard ranking system she is not sure what exactly it means but knows that its absent of everything she has worked so hard for. absent of everything her mother died for.
praimfaya.
praimfaya who?
praimfaya noukru. praimfaya no kru.
she cannot help but feel that the loss of roangeda has stripped her of her identity entirely. not wanheda. not even worlida. her bravado at the borders, the belief that this is not the end but merely another beginning is waning thin. yes, it gives her time to train unencumbered by the pressures of leadership but ...that was all her whole life has revolved around. it was much like making a weapon and telling it to find peace. it doesn't know how.
she doesn't know how. how to function as anything less than a commander. the first couple of days she hid herself away — finding places to hide was not hard — and wept. her sorrows. her frustrations. she's aired out her grievances to the tangled forest at moonspear's lower slopes and it listened. silently.
now it was time to work. to help provide for moonspear. to train. she regards the higher slopes of the mountain in the early dawn light but knows she will not go near them. just looking at them causes a shiver of fear to slither down her spine. to the lower slopes she will stay. even in the thick forest that feels safer she cannot shake the image of her mother being crushed by the boulder from her mind's eye when she closes them.
it remains early and sleep evades praimfaya and she does what she normally does when haunting nightmares of blodreina and ingram's gruesome grave startles her awake: she heads for the borders to patrol off the lingering images, finding comfort in the familiar action.
unfamiliar with the standard ranking system she is not sure what exactly it means but knows that its absent of everything she has worked so hard for. absent of everything her mother died for.
praimfaya.
praimfaya who?
praimfaya noukru. praimfaya no kru.
she cannot help but feel that the loss of roangeda has stripped her of her identity entirely. not wanheda. not even worlida. her bravado at the borders, the belief that this is not the end but merely another beginning is waning thin. yes, it gives her time to train unencumbered by the pressures of leadership but ...that was all her whole life has revolved around. it was much like making a weapon and telling it to find peace. it doesn't know how.
she doesn't know how. how to function as anything less than a commander. the first couple of days she hid herself away — finding places to hide was not hard — and wept. her sorrows. her frustrations. she's aired out her grievances to the tangled forest at moonspear's lower slopes and it listened. silently.
now it was time to work. to help provide for moonspear. to train. she regards the higher slopes of the mountain in the early dawn light but knows she will not go near them. just looking at them causes a shiver of fear to slither down her spine. to the lower slopes she will stay. even in the thick forest that feels safer she cannot shake the image of her mother being crushed by the boulder from her mind's eye when she closes them.
it remains early and sleep evades praimfaya and she does what she normally does when haunting nightmares of blodreina and ingram's gruesome grave startles her awake: she heads for the borders to patrol off the lingering images, finding comfort in the familiar action.
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Messages In This Thread
look like the innocent flower, - by RIP Praimfaya - January 05, 2020, 05:47 AM
RE: look like the innocent flower, - by Vega - January 06, 2020, 01:08 PM
RE: look like the innocent flower, - by RIP Praimfaya - January 11, 2020, 07:09 AM