[Hayame did not like Dextera. … Not that this was particularly noteworthy, seeing as Hayame did not like many people at all. He was weak-willed, simpering, and mute, not someone she could trust beside her in battle, nor someone she could rely on as an ally…
But he was Meridian. And when he had come to her early in this Oracle’s “game” to admit that he was feeling vulnerable to the influence of others, when it was clear he might make an easy target for Zenites ready to sway him… Hayame had sworn she would protect him. Whether she respects or likes him or not, she would not leave a Meridian to be corrupted in that way, to have their hearts twisted forcefully away from what they have chosen. She would not even twist a Zenite that way. She would kill them if need be in a second (she has killed them, there are shards on her person that are not her own), but to worm her way into their hearts and try to trick them… no. There is no honor in it.
The sound of her name is like a beacon. The way it is said is like a warning. Somehow, when she was not by his side-
Hayame turns immediately from where she had been stalking another traitor and breaks into a gallop. She leaps over roots, dodges around other shard-bearers, ignores those that call out to her or ask what the matter is, and focuses only on the sense of where Dextera was, growing closer, closer…
In the chaotic spill of communion she can sense who is closest to him. The likely enemy. The knowledge of who is there coalesces… but it doesn’t stop her. (Even if it makes her-)
Hayame’s hoof beats echo in the tunnel before she bursts into the scene, long black mane and tail whipping behind her as she pulls up close but not too close, all too mindful of the hand on throat and the stinking, oppressive feel of Zenith. All too aware that it’s Amos, that the last time they’d spoke her voice had been hushed between them, close and soft and slightly desperate-]
no subject
But he was Meridian. And when he had come to her early in this Oracle’s “game” to admit that he was feeling vulnerable to the influence of others, when it was clear he might make an easy target for Zenites ready to sway him… Hayame had sworn she would protect him. Whether she respects or likes him or not, she would not leave a Meridian to be corrupted in that way, to have their hearts twisted forcefully away from what they have chosen. She would not even twist a Zenite that way. She would kill them if need be in a second (she has killed them, there are shards on her person that are not her own), but to worm her way into their hearts and try to trick them… no. There is no honor in it.
The sound of her name is like a beacon. The way it is said is like a warning. Somehow, when she was not by his side-
Hayame turns immediately from where she had been stalking another traitor and breaks into a gallop. She leaps over roots, dodges around other shard-bearers, ignores those that call out to her or ask what the matter is, and focuses only on the sense of where Dextera was, growing closer, closer…
In the chaotic spill of communion she can sense who is closest to him. The likely enemy. The knowledge of who is there coalesces… but it doesn’t stop her. (Even if it makes her-)
Hayame’s hoof beats echo in the tunnel before she bursts into the scene, long black mane and tail whipping behind her as she pulls up close but not too close, all too mindful of the hand on throat and the stinking, oppressive feel of Zenith. All too aware that it’s Amos, that the last time they’d spoke her voice had been hushed between them, close and soft and slightly desperate-]
Let him go, Amos.
[But it is not soft now.]