Andarin: The Mountains: mom. --

“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it? That's what it is to be a slave.”
- Blade Runner

The genes, mother, she laughed, the scars rippling and dancing. Beauty, I have found, is rather synonimous with chronic stupidity...

She would have known; she’d loved the beautiful, and found the thorns they had.

Love, she surmised, was overrated.

The perils of procreation, she shrugs and thinks of her daughter’s belly, rounded already -- too early, too new, but then, so she was, though hers had very little love and a lot of frozen calculation. They are shadows, of course, she grins, though she knows her dam will not see, because of course they would be. That was the whole point. They are as different as cold and heat and very close. Pretty self sufficient.

They were. Walking between Jörmungandr and Alkonost -- unthinkable, unless one was a lot braver (and stupider) than usual. Bravery, however, made for very short lifespans, and she thought most horses here had outgrown it.

Nice dodge, by the way, she chuckles -- an eerie sound, all things considered, as it was quite disembodied -- and for the first time, tilted her head to stare at the spawn (her sibling, horror of horrors). I’m assuming this one comes from that… mercenary, isn’t he? One of the traitors, but then, back then it wasn’t her business, so she had no duty to punish him. I suppose it makes sense, in a vaguely horrifying way.

If her eyes were hollow and the mirth didn’t reach her eyes, was not her mother’s fault -- neither hers to know, thankfully.

fenrisulfr
some there be that shadows kiss,
such have but a shadow’s bliss