róisín

She has not forgotten their last conversation. It was not something that could have easily been forgotten, even if she had been of a mind to do so. But time has dulled those wounds and time has fast forwarded past those moments, allowing the gaping chasm of grief to be bridged often enough that she no longer fears the crossing most days. The trauma that Nyimara had inflicted on her family had left scars across them all, and even now Roisin wondered if the return of her father and brother would herald a return of Nyimara's vengeance.

"Of course," she shoots back, tossing her head to the side sassily. "It's the latest fashion. You'd know," she teased sharply, "if you stuck around more often." Despite the sharpness, there is no real bite. Roisin had long ago learned that Sigurdr was special, and he was a boy, which was why her father always chose him for the long sojourns away. As he tugs the stick free, she laughs and nods. "You can have them all. I think there's a few kids around here that would love to dress you up with paint and feathers too," she says warmly, her thoughts casting to the unending parade of children that always seemed to call the Ridge home. She loved being a big sister, but even now the thought of children made her stomach squidge nervously.

Kids were much cuter when they belonged to someone else.

Father needed the time to recover, he says and she grows somber, her thoughts returning to the past. After their father had taken their mother's place, no further word ever reached them of his condition. There was an unspoken but pervasive fear amongst her family that he'd been killed by Aranck or the crazy witch Nyimara. It was only when Nyimara's renewed challenges began to trickle in that the possibility of Bjorn's escape seemed feasible. Clearly the silver haired snake had not gone to the Lagoon of her own volition, even though she seemed perfectly comfortable there amongst the vipers. Even now, with Cullen defeated and Nyimara in apparent hiding, Roisin could not relax.

It was always only a matter of time until Nyimara struck again.

She listens intently as Sigurdr goes on to explain that he and father had once again escaped to the mysterious Norðurland to recover, and winces when Sig makes it clear that their father had been wounded by his time here. Guilt suffuses her body and she aches with the desire to make it right somehow and to apologize to her daddy for not coming to his rescue. The old pain of being unable to save her family - any of them - resurfaces and she swallows hard, her gaze dancing away from Sigurdr. That was part of why she had picked the Peak. If anyone could train her to be enough, it would be them, she thought.

"We?" She questions, thankful for the distraction from the old wound. "Who else is with you?"

The topic moves on, and Roisin listens quietly while Sigurdr pleads Bjorn's case for him. I'm grown now, she wanted to say. Past the point of believing that father will stay, no matter how much I wish he would. But she did not. Her pain was her own cross to bear, and so the dun girl only nods silently, and falls in line behind her monochrome brother. Together they trek quickly through the jungle that was home to them both before emerging on the beach where she'd last spotted the grey figure from atop the mountain. He was older now, she saw, but not much different from the last time she'd seen him. Not nearly as different as her fears had made him in the long nights worrying about his care beneath the Arch monsters.

She sucks in a shaky breath, trying to quiet the hammering of her heart, and steps forward, raising her head proudly. She was not so strong like Sigurdr, or brave like Skogsra… but she would always be her daddy's daughter. "Daddy," she said, her breath whooshing quietly from her. She doesn't move as he steps closer, afraid that she will crumble if she does. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you, Daddy. I was so worried about you."

As if speaking the words unlocked the true weight of those emotions - the crushing heaviness of it - her resolve to be strong weakens and she closes the last remaining distance between them to crush her face against the salt-scented tangle of his mane. "I'm so glad you're alright."

mare . 3 . mutt . dun sabino . 14.3 hh . björn x siobhan . love

Image from Pixabay & HTML by loveinspired