Post by Chapel on Aug 3, 2006 2:08:20 GMT -5
Natural that she, named for those vaulted sanctuaries, would find herself wandering to what must be sacred ground. Sacred, and forbidden, yet she tresspassed so casually. Her gait held grace as well as power; she sauntered like an unhurried sovereign. As if this were her domain, though she knew full well it was not.
Chapel didn't much care for the feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her to leave, but she was of no mind to obey it. Her parents had always taught her the importance of following orders, and now Reina's foolish lack of foresight had killed her only living daughter. Chapel resented her saintly mother. Less so did she resent the stern being she had called "father"; he, at least, had a sense of honor to him. He had died with dignity, when his time had come. Only her mother, so good yet so unwise, had been unable to accept her end. And Reina had been such a graceful creature.
She did, Chapel supposed, have her mother's walk. She was slightly more imposing, physically, than her mother had been, but then Mordern had been unthinkably large for their usually slight breed. She might have felt better, approaching the statue, if her warrior of a father were here with her.
He could never know how she had changed, however, in the six weeks she'd been here already; lurking in the shadows, peering in on others. She was not his obeisant daughter, crusading for a better world.
She'd become more like the vultures that had circled over their heads, in their nomadic desert life. In life, Chapel would have done all she could to protect every member of their pack. In the desolation she had found in Venial, she understood the necessity of culling the weak.
And she understood the importance of following no orders but her own. Chapel drew ever closer to the pyre.
Chapel didn't much care for the feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her to leave, but she was of no mind to obey it. Her parents had always taught her the importance of following orders, and now Reina's foolish lack of foresight had killed her only living daughter. Chapel resented her saintly mother. Less so did she resent the stern being she had called "father"; he, at least, had a sense of honor to him. He had died with dignity, when his time had come. Only her mother, so good yet so unwise, had been unable to accept her end. And Reina had been such a graceful creature.
She did, Chapel supposed, have her mother's walk. She was slightly more imposing, physically, than her mother had been, but then Mordern had been unthinkably large for their usually slight breed. She might have felt better, approaching the statue, if her warrior of a father were here with her.
He could never know how she had changed, however, in the six weeks she'd been here already; lurking in the shadows, peering in on others. She was not his obeisant daughter, crusading for a better world.
She'd become more like the vultures that had circled over their heads, in their nomadic desert life. In life, Chapel would have done all she could to protect every member of their pack. In the desolation she had found in Venial, she understood the necessity of culling the weak.
And she understood the importance of following no orders but her own. Chapel drew ever closer to the pyre.