When You Wish [Riku]

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Dirys was disappointing.

A primal sort of city, existing on the thriving of the very worst of type of being, it had dulled her opinion of mortalkind – and that was the very gentlest way of putting it.

For one once called a frail creature, there was a fire that burned deeply in the pit of Neyela’s stomach when she thought of Dirys – of Atton – of the great injustices of the world. She had left them both to wander, and wandering brought her nothing but the bitterness of revolt.

Not all of them were this way, she knew – Ellis was good, but it seemed the good were taken advantage of, pushed aside. And that only fanned the flame awakened in her.

She sang, something slow and haunting, in the back corner of a fancy dining hall, a pastime taken up to pay for food and board. Her voice was not angelic by any stretch, but had a warbling quality to it that made it sound melancholy, well-liked in the more upscale venues of various cities. It was in, she’d been told; but she was there for a roof, and an a few pieces of gold, and so she only smiled kindly when they said so and was on her way; a map, a bota bag, and a satchel of stinking cheese and stale bread her only companions.

It was a lonely life.

She missed Thanatos often, his towering figure a staple in her nightly meditations, and she wondered if she was seeing him where he was; readying himself for war, or perhaps just imagining him beside her, as if she had a companion on her journeys.

When he wasn’t hovering just behind closed eyelids, enticing her attention, she was reading the stars, a newfound hobby. They were easy to read but not so easy to interperet; rabbits and arrows and floating, blank eyes. More often then not, the girl spent long hours reading a trail in the cosmos, only to quit, frustrated, when she had not decoded it before dawn.

Liesdro called to her.

After Dirys, though something of a trek, she needed the calm of an intellectual city, that praised the intelligent over the rich, scholarly pursuits over political. After a week of her grueling trudge, Neyela gave up and bought a horse, light grey and dappled with freckles, like she was.

The city was beautiful, and brought a sense of wonderment to her heart that left her feeling fulfilled, ready for her nightly commune with the stars.

She certainly looked as if she could use a shower, and, especially to a girl who craved being clean, was desperate for one. Neyela swung a weary leg over her horse, hitched him to a post, and wandered, eyes darting about on the lookout for an inn or hostel, dirty and worn from travel.

An unfortunately glaring target.