Ruieze Fields

Open fields and soft grass...
Ruieze stretches far in the midlands of Moladion, laced with streams that feed into Diveen and out of Asteraia at times. The fields are vast, filled with wildflowers and tall, soft grass; trees are sparse, as are rocks, but one can find small shrubs to hide amongst, and the grass itself. To the south of the fields, a Ruieze River widens, and the ground becomes sandy. There is a small, grassy island that can be reached from the banks, with water-birds often congregating on the island rather than the riverbanks.

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Delya's hackles are the first to go up. She can't help it. She can't help the fact that she's feeling... differently than she has been. The Russian dancer reacts in the only way she knows how, for now. There's not true aggression but she's uneasy. Her stomach churns. Queasy. Taking one step back, one step and then another, and then... she wants to run. She wants to run so badly, but Dimitri's shoulder presses into her own. Steady. Steady. That's what she needs, something to be steady.

Dimitri growls. That's what he's got in his throat, a growl, but he doesn't know why. It dies there. It dies where it sits because he doesn't know why it's there. Maybe he hates Sabriel. He can't remember. He can't remember now, he can't think now, he can't wrap his head around who he was the last time he saw this creature. This... family... member. Family. Fuck the family-- they'd never done a damn thing for him.

If you knew them, you'd know that they were subjected to a selective memory of the things that happened to have gone on in their earlier lives. That was the thing-- you could never be quite sure of what either was thinking or feeling. Delya wears her heart somewhere close to her sleeve, so that makes things easier. Her eyes set on the creature before her, and she doesn't shake.

Dimitri is still the first to speak, thick Russian accent playing in his tone. "Sabriel. You're alive." That's all. That's all he can think to say, as Delya is usually the talker. That's what he needs, the talker. The talker to talk, Dimitri to shred things apart. Destory. That's all he's ever been good for, after all. Destruction.

"You're... S-sabriel? You're still here? W-where's Kellin? Where's G-Gavriel...?" There. There were the words she didn't want to ask, the things she didn't want to know the answer to. Cutting right to the chase, there was Delya.

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