#+ close to what she's doing methinks the only actual end goal is to test how approachable rafal is and how he sees griss. similar to what

[ruinakete]

THE RAPID HUNGER THAT DROVE BOTH CONSUMPTION AND CURIOSITY WAS AS MUCH A SIN AS IT WAS A VIRTUE; the quarter of a musing remembered from the lips of an abbot, second of a name she had not cared to memorize in the heart of his irrelevance. the very moment she was disarmed and forced to forfeit her participation amid battle, her focus narrowed on the kin of her sole lord━━━a priority upheld ever since her hound had laid the revelation of the twins' existence at her feet. though fortunate, there had been a strange acidic burn spread along the back of her throat when she woke to ponder the pledge of her allegiance to - day. to wear the invisible sigil of his house was not a declaration of flock loyalty, nor shall it become anything more than an advancement in sharing the same space of air as he.

finding rafal was not the concern, as it would be completed through any means necessary, whether through the threat of another or the sabotage of battle, but the true misfortune showed itself in the lack of spectacle he made. from those she found, standing or sitting along the edges of the fields to await assistance, they provided little aid with their words. to the extent of twitching her two-toned eye and nearly snapping the thin thread of self - control she prided herself to contain.

what was she to do when there wasn't a great deal of impressions on him besides the disdain of overbearing lectures and sharp tongues? should she provoke the blade of his curt antagonisms with the prodding of her own? should she prompt an approach by offering her hand at tending magic? to tame a soul, you must give it reason to run to you first; rafal was older than veyle had been when the latter first met the kind smile zephia could once wear.

hm, but perhaps she was pondering this to the point of exhausting the reality. first impressions were only gates to the person's vulnerability; thus, mage dragon caught the fell dragon amidst his retreat, ignoring both student and affiliate alike as she stalked swiftly after him. similar to the attentiveness of her own hound, retracing his steps was easy enough, as he seemed nearly overcome with a sulking demeanor upon leaving his prior battle. however, her strides stretched too long, awkwardly spread in light of unrecognized anticipation and his suddenly - realized limp that the distance between them grew shorter and shorter before she had a moment to discern whichever dreadful feeling continued to claw at her throat.

"the last living mage dragon." griss' gaze had flickered from the window to the dragon, herself. "zelestia was her name, i think. . ."

"lord rafal?" came her call, abrupt despite herself, made the very moment they were far enough from conflict and meddling attendants. claws retract to clasp her hands together and fangs sheath themselves behind her smile. though not a measure of her kindness met her eyes, which searched restlessly for a dent or crack in his countenance.

mage dragon canted her head slightly to the side, clinking together the jewelry she proudly wore, accessorized similarly to the open yet stagnant wounds that tore the fabric of her robes. but unlike rafal, zephia had not suffered the heavier brunt of her opponents; a note she stored in her throat to articulate properly later. for now, as long as he would allow her, she smiled and offered a meager look of worry.

"hm. you seem to be on your last legs." a thoughtful pause. sangria eyes fell to where his hand curled around his waist. "do you require a hand to the nearest tent, milord? i'd hate to watch you limp your way there when i could lend my help."

and softly, along the narrow of her gaze. ". . . griss has shared quite the story of you with me; nearly breaking his jaw and all. so to be felled to this extent. . ."

@rafent !

☽ ・ something i'm not, but something i can be ━━━ zephia & rafal

/ post - battle BOEL thread.