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wordstarter2010 ~
re: here
Corwin studied the Imperial (or the Imperial-looking being) carefully. She saw the way the sunlight glinted off her scales, her shimmering mane. And that longing, so deep it nearly made the earth sing.
"One born from Paradise is irrevocably bound to it," she said at last. "Longing is the trail you follow. May you find Paradise, young one -- and may it last longer than mine ever did."
And then she looked at Lethe. Something the Gaoler had said jangled in her brain. "Resources. Yes. Certainly you will find those here. Wasteland it may be, but even a wasteland is generous, if one is patient with it." She turned, spreading her wings as if to embrace the horizon.
"This place is far removed from mine, in form as well as in spirit. I cannot tarry long, for my quarry is ever on the move. She knows that I have come searching for her on this plane. I will resume my journey soon, but before that, is there aught you wish to say? My knowledge of this plane is incomplete, but if you will it, I will answer." She tipped her head in acknowledgment of their strange, shared natures, and added, "One wanderer to another."
@
yeezy13 ~
re:here
Corwin reached out, smoothed out the note with an onyx claw. She read it and nodded to herself.
"Luck, indeed," she rumbled. "Would that we could all have just a little more luck..."
She had learned the hard way that sometimes honor is insufficient. Luck, fickle as it was, did have its gifts sometimes.
She picked up the garment that had been left for her. A red rose, the classic symbol of love, blooming in the desert. Artificial, lifeless...
"But blooming, nonetheless," she told herself. Perhaps it would bring her luck, in time.