@edelwyss-solemns hornet
the rock had cut her shallowly, once, twice. she huffs, only imagining casting a spell to get revenge on the uncaring, tight and cold tunnel, especially since her mind found focus in something far more worthy of it- the way was expanding minutely, her horns being hit and pressed less and less... "we're reaching the end of this dreadful part of the tunnel." she murmurs it, knowing they'd all still hear with the taut quarters. ... to stand again was marvel, pulling in a breath like it her first, tugging a final time on the sum of silk strands in her hand before dropping them, coming to her father who was bundled in silk just enough to safely be dragged behind, his eyes faintly open and the expression could only be described as a silent, somber, 'why?' she undoes the wrappings as the little shade- cased in shell -the one dubbed moss hurried beside. as per she intended, father was not harmed by the trek.
He lays still, too weak to fight as he’s handled like a doll. his eyes project his general annoyance at everything, the rocks, the silk, the hunger,hornet, moss, everything. Moss, the small and ever curious child they are, has taken an interest in hornets items, nibbling her bag and poking her needles . Their little hands grasping her cloak and her bag when she moves a little bit too fast for the young shadow.
The shadow settles when seeing their parents is unharmed. Slowly walking around and looking at things, this is clearly the farthest from the abyss flor they have ever been
hornet is interrupted again and again as she frees him, her ways to deter moss could be counted on one hand- gently, but firmly - pushing them back, shooing them off, or simply making it clear. "my weapons are not toys, my bag has nothing safe for you to play with and my cloak is something dear." she says this time. "allow me to finish this." she stares down moss, instilling the demand with just her gaze, and they do in fact still, she betting a minute max she'd have of this- max. so she turns to father and hurri- ah... the end of the silk came into her palms- tied to the spool in seconds before it can really register, having done it thousands of times before... father lies there with tattered robes settled neatly. she offers her hold again- to carry him again.
She can barely react before he is in her hold again, desperate for physical contact that isn’t a shade. he trembles against her, claws sinking back into the fabric of her cloak.
His breathing is uneven, he’s far too thin, but he is alive, and at this moment that’s all that matters.
...she pulls in a breath, the weight, the touch- unfamiliar, strange, something that she shouldn't hope to get used to. just a small adjustment and then she stands in a swift single motion. "come, follow closely." her horns grazing the ceiling with her father's as she gestures moss to carry on. she lets her head settle in the nook of his shoulder- his frame bulked graciously by the robes that'd yet to rot away- he'd need new clothe. "i still have the bread in my bag." she says as a thought comes to her.
A small, trill like sound comes from the shaking wyrm in her arms, content with just being held for now.
Moss follows close, now rummaging through her bag to try to find the bread, not having interest for themself, but the moment they find it they attempt to shove it in their father’s mouth, getting a slightly annoyed growl that only seemed to make them attempt harder.
They eventually gave up and handed it to hornet when all they got in response was growling.
"do not fuss with my bag." the words sharp and sudden, hissed out almost- she observes their trying, fathers growling, and just sighs as it's handed back without any hand in turn to take it. "...here." she bends the knees and bites into the bread, taking it from them so. standing, she eats the bread carefully, trekking forward still. "know if you touch my belongings again i will not restrain myself; i will kick you." she says as she chews. "i do not take any sort of thieving well, be it even play." ... "...though i understand your desire to help him." she rubs a circle into father's back... gently.
He leans into her, falling asleep. Moss, understanding her surprisingly well, nods and takes a step back to walk behind her up the tunnel again.
It wasn’t much longer before the tunnel came to an end and moss squeezed past in excitement, running out to look at the world outside the abyss.
the cavern is gray- varying shades washed over the rock of this place, cool earth comes to her feet, emerging from an old crack in the wall that had grown bigger over eons- "moss!" she shouts as they come closer to the edge, and they stop. they stand below the bridge, far below it, a nook in the old chasm, the ground uneven but safe, she gestures to a crude path upward. "be aware of each step you take, the fall is unkind." ... moss stumbled once and not again, something coming back to them almost as they see that dark, the gravity tugging them to it, they continue to tread, the air fresh and vivid, almost, and glorious as they make it to solid ground. good gods, never again. hornet thinks. i am never going down there again! she holds her head up high- the vessels eyes though are steady on what is behind them; the palace. dark and alone, fallen, dead. it stands there like a grave, lingers like a spirit, with an exterior still pale- mind you, -but dimmed, not a voice rose, not a spark of light besides the remaining lumaflies, clinging to the past, huddled about their old lamps.
moss, once out of the area of danger, begins to walk ahead again, their small footsteps echoing through the cavern.
The palace, once shining and beautiful, is now darkened and half fallen, sits ahead in an almost mocking manner, and moss is determined to get closer to it.
The shell of a kingsmold sits empty on the ground. moss pokes it, inspecting the cold armor, Before dropping all the pieces in favor of a very shiny rock.
she watches it, the voidless corpse- in other words it's remaining armor & curved claw-blade. the clattering sound made her jump into her fighting stance, made father jolt, she hisses a sigh at moss... ... she weighs options. the palace is right there, across the bridge, beckoning. but it is also the palace. did she, or father really want to return to such a place, especially in it's ruin? well then where else? deepnest- to her mother? could she manage the way there? her limbs were heavier than they should be, and not just due to father. ... it was obvious, though she didn't care for the past incarnate... ...then again, father. ... the bridge is cold, it's engravings against her feet. survival over discomfort, life over luxury, will over desire, surely they can find a room, huddle inside, and rest in that pale, winding nest.
Moss, after picking up the shiny stone, walks back over to hornet, and slides it into the opening of her bag, quickly understanding what bags are made for.
The wyrm in her arms fully relaxed as the long running fatigue from void exposure claims him, causing him to fall into a deep sleep. Finally.
it was in the same instance a little wriggly palm slipped into her silken bag that her arms tighten around father, that nothing but muscle memory and reflex took host and that she twists and in the momentum, her foot meets their mask- moss is kicked. they fly to the railing and land beside it with a thump. head down on the bridge ground. she blinks, a drumming guilt in her chest but peering over they look relatively intact- for a bug who's shell is kept together with naught but silk scraps -so... "i had warned you." she continues walking. "my bag is mine, and nothing there is for you to use." the rock they deposited clinks and tinks with hornet's many things as she walks.
Moss stands to follow her again, noticeably deflated. They didn’t mean to offend, they are too young to understand why this happened. They scratch gently at their arm, the same nervous tic her father possesses.
It’s quite.
the quiet haunts, it like a mist washing over the ruins of something still grand, if only for the picture it drew to the mind of what it once was. she sighs something relieving when she hears the little shade's steps, and begins recalling the halls and rooms of the palace, where best to huddle? somewhere close to the entrance, that she knew- hoisting father up so he settles in her arms right again, so she doesn't drop him. a pep in her step as she crosses the center of the bridge, with that floral motif cold and chilling, old and uncared for... but still seeming to shine beneath their feet.
Moss walks ahead slightly, pushing the heavy door to the palace open with surprising strength, waiting patiently for hornet to follow.
The wyrm huddles closer, now shivering despite the fact he felt as if he was on fire, the warmth of a living person compared to the ice of the abyss is harsh. His eyes stay closed, trying the best he can to rest.
she adjusts, ensuring her hold stays. ...it was awkward, her head resting on his shoulder, his clothe and skin icy... strange, creeping into the old ruin, the old memory; dusty and chilling, the dead air brushing up against her. she gives a warm nod to moss. "thank you." and steps into the palace.
The entry is almost completely collapsed, peaces of floor missing, just enough to get across comfortably if they walk slow.
Moss walks ahead. Assessing the damage of the floor, chirping every time they step over a gap. Rubble covers the floor that isn’t broken, a small amount of void made its way inside, causing stains before it dried up. The royal garden is just ahead.
treading as she always did; precise. the ground was no challenge, her gaze more focused on moss, keeping close to them. she peers at the place, at the way to her old chambers.