Vëalíre,
Lioness of Prideless
Played by pine

healing came gradually — a slow dance of time and m a g i c, weaving its spell over flesh and bone; heart and soul. two halves, torn asunder in the plummet from earth to sea, had come together once more — a renewed union of pink flesh that left the curve of shoulder tender, but no longer a pulsing staccato of haunted dreams. the soul, though — the soul, it mourned: a gasping, heaving pain that bubbled and popped, rising ever closer to the cracked surface.

until, at long last, it burst forth.

from the shadows of her refuge, vëalíre fled — the roar of blackened waves thundering in her ears. a stranger in a strange land, vëalíre ran without any sense of direction; without any awareness of the world around her. it was instinct ( a flight from the furl of ravenous water upon her heels ) that drove vëalíre — that pushed her until her breath burned in her lungs, her chest heaved, and the warm ooze of fresh blood ( tender union severed once more ) mingled with the worn leather hide of her shoulder. she stood, trembling, enveloped in a darkness she did not remember entering.

who’s there? the darkness hissed, demanding, and in her trance ( heave, ho, quiver, r e p e a t ), vëalíre spoke — her voice naught but a whisper, ”our ghosts.”

»«


note, this takes place after her marooning (two to four weeks?? idk!!); so, she’s not on one end of aesseldar and then the other in the blink of an eye.

code to pine