Difference between revisions of "Logs:Tomorrow"

To Elaruth, Hraedhyth's presence is unmistakeably, suddenly there. No time (or is it energy?) for subtlety, the younger queen makes herself known right away. Her presence is heavy without adding pressure, dark smoke covers her thoughts and mood, unintentionally hidden. It is her plight, kept seperate rather than pollute the hazy memory of Elaruth's mist. She waits, pensive drums echoing in the distance.

Is is that she waits for words or an announcement of intent that prevents Elaruth from putting voice to any enquiry as to the younger queen's presence? One moment, two, another, waiting until shallow water might convey those distant drums with the tiniest of all but unnoticeable ripples and it becomes more apparent that heaviness is not going away; that drums are not fading. « Hraedhyth. » A mere murmur, low, laced with a cool breeze. (Elaruth to Hraedhyth)

It could be some misguided attempt at restraint that has Hraedhyth hesitant to go tromping through the marshes this time. « Elaruth. » Matriarch. The weight carries in her voice, low register even lower, nearly beyond words. Felt. « Mine wishes to speak with Yours. » Fire concealed by the smoke, she continues to keep her distance, « We understand if you refuse us. » At any time, but given the events at High Reaches, even she understands that the safety of Fort comes first. (Hraedhyth to Elaruth)

To Hraedhyth, Elaruth offers no immediate response, touch going distant, the marshes themselves vanishing beneath mist as one thread of communication is kept up whilst conference is held with another. Presumably Hattie. « She says you may visit tomorrow. » The words are there before the marshes fade back in the subtle rustle of tall grasses. « In the afternoon. » It's impossible to tell whose mind produces the stipulations that follow, so much does one agree with the other. « You must be careful and quiet. Some of our little ones are... sensitive. » Some more than others. « And you must not bring /him/. Cadejoth's. »

To Elaruth, Hraedhyth is patient. Unnervingly so. The drums never change, a steady thumping that has become far more instinctual over the past sevens. It could be seen as comforting, to some. « Thank you, Fort Matriarch. » A spark of something manages to surpass her black smog. « I understand. » There's an energy to her now, regaining some flicker of hope. It's only when the bronze is mentioned do her drums falter, speeding up for one startled moment. There's something hot and angry in the distance, now. « We will not. You have my word. » Quickly given, almost hurried, it's difficult to see what exactly has her so heated. Not hard to imagine, however.

Unused to /patience/ from Hraedhyth, Elaruth conveys a phantom, gentle nudge when she catches her flicker of hope, a silent and careful 'chin up' gesture accompanied by nothing more than a faint wave of pale sunshine. She ignores hot and angry perhaps for the sake of them both, unwilling to deliberately seek it out or permit more than the distant sense of it through her own defences. « Thank you, Hraedhyth. » Simple enough. Safe enough. « We will see you both tomorrow. She asks that yours comes to the council room when you arrive. » (Elaruth to Hraedhyth)

Sunshine. It's a warmth that is different from her own flames, yet Hraedhyth welcomes it with open gratitude. There is no attempt to snuff out her growing aggitation, but she puts even more distance between it and Elaruth. « Tomorrow. » Her orders, though gentle, are understood. The Reachian queen's retreat is as swift as her arrival, the weight she carries with her suddenly gone. (Hraedhyth to Elaruth)