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Description

((Spoiler picture: sorry D8))

She could kill someone who carried her king’s eyes...

Early Spring, Year 759 of the New Age
Silverthorne, The Ash Plains
Featuring Aldra and Cleon .
Previous
Blood Red Sunrise

Under Grian's Eyes
Blood painted her legs.
His body shivered and squirmed on the hard, cold ground.
The liquid trickled down her chin, coating the ground in a sticky mud.
Had he done something wrong?

She couldn’t stop what she had started; each moment something new seemed to break. Each moment something shattered to pieces and disappeared in the wind, flowing away over the Ash Plains, leaving the rest battered, broken and torn.

Her little one
Her son
Cleon

She couldn’t kill him; she simply could not do it. Not when life had shown itself in his eyes as her brightly coloured flames. The eyes weren’t like hers or her mother’s, nor were they the eyes of her father. They were the eyes of his father; of Skuldafn.

They were bright, warm and kind. Everything she wasn’t.

That was not what kept her from killing him though that had to be remembered. Aldra did not carry a spark for the king, or a kindling flame. She did not love him; she barely cared for him, much like she barely cared for his herd. No, what kept her from killing him was the life within them. It was the way Grian danced in them, how she stood proudly within them.

She could kill someone who carried her king’s eyes, but she could not take the life of one who’s eyes be-longed to Grian.
She could not kill a flame.

Cleon lives!
How dared any of you think I would actually kill off my new character
Anyhow, this is just a quick, small thingie since I really do not have the time to make something big and special. I got a plane to catch after all

Description

((Spoiler picture: sorry D8))

She could kill someone who carried her king’s eyes...

Early Spring, Year 759 of the New Age
Silverthorne, The Ash Plains
Featuring Aldra and Cleon .
Previous
Blood Red Sunrise

Under Grian's Eyes
Blood painted her legs.
His body shivered and squirmed on the hard, cold ground.
The liquid trickled down her chin, coating the ground in a sticky mud.
Had he done something wrong?

She couldn’t stop what she had started; each moment something new seemed to break. Each moment something shattered to pieces and disappeared in the wind, flowing away over the Ash Plains, leaving the rest battered, broken and torn.

Her little one
Her son
Cleon

She couldn’t kill him; she simply could not do it. Not when life had shown itself in his eyes as her brightly coloured flames. The eyes weren’t like hers or her mother’s, nor were they the eyes of her father. They were the eyes of his father; of Skuldafn.

They were bright, warm and kind. Everything she wasn’t.

That was not what kept her from killing him though that had to be remembered. Aldra did not carry a spark for the king, or a kindling flame. She did not love him; she barely cared for him, much like she barely cared for his herd. No, what kept her from killing him was the life within them. It was the way Grian danced in them, how she stood proudly within them.

She could kill someone who carried her king’s eyes, but she could not take the life of one who’s eyes be-longed to Grian.
She could not kill a flame.

Cleon lives!
How dared any of you think I would actually kill off my new character
Anyhow, this is just a quick, small thingie since I really do not have the time to make something big and special. I got a plane to catch after all