Wholly unsatisfied by the sentinel's lack of reaction, Mirza sat quietly for the time she was forced to wait, cooing to her bird in Ecitharese nonsense and baby-talk, her angry fit of earlier seemingly forgotten. She snacked from her back, little more than dried food and a flatbread, and at one point she even fell asleep, leaning over the table from her chair.
She awoke and stood up in much the same motion when the door clanged open, revealing two sentinels now, but this one showed his face. Custodes Deorum was an unfamiliar phrase to her, but she knew it to be Vastian. Her expression didn't change at his muttering, and her face and gaze followed him as he seated himself across from her. She sat back in her chair, finding it comfortable for what it was and for her height and possession of a tail.
She had slept on the ground the night before this; she could sit or sleep most anywhere. Mirza kept quiet for a moment, an attempt to collect her thoughts as the new Sentinel Phocion questioned her. About her and her family... she questioned that herself, some. Why her mother and siblings were so convinced of coming to Solunarium was something only her mother knew, perhaps a feeling of lost love since her father had died, or a desire for change, to bury herself in the sand, to flee from conflicts that Mirza herself was too young to know about.
She blinked a few times and returned her gaze to the moonborn's. "I am a hunter. My family is my two brothers and my sister, of ages between thirteen and two hundred. My eldest brother should have long left the clutch, but we have stayed together. I am the only half-ling. My mother is five hundred years old, and she has had children before us, but we are the ones whom she clings to. I am twenty-five.
My father was a deserter of the military here, the Golden Guard. He fled into the Commonwealth, a failson of a family who could still claim Re'hyaen blood. He wove long tales of Solunarium and Lisymidris would listen, enraptured. She is old, but she is not wise. She thrives on instinct. But she is clever."
Mirza tapped a claw nervously on the table, afraid she may have misspoken. "She knows the wildlands of the Commonwealth in great depth, especially near the border, near Sentrium. She lives only six day's walk away. I do not think my father was a noble man in intentions or spirit, but he captured her greatest attention. I do not know, personally, the details of your Zalkyrian dynasty. I was sent to find out if it was even possible. I am the least threatening, and the wild clings to them far deeper than it does to me." She tilted her head to the side with as-yet unbroken eye contact to Phocion. "Does your lord dislike green dragons?"
She awoke and stood up in much the same motion when the door clanged open, revealing two sentinels now, but this one showed his face. Custodes Deorum was an unfamiliar phrase to her, but she knew it to be Vastian. Her expression didn't change at his muttering, and her face and gaze followed him as he seated himself across from her. She sat back in her chair, finding it comfortable for what it was and for her height and possession of a tail.
She had slept on the ground the night before this; she could sit or sleep most anywhere. Mirza kept quiet for a moment, an attempt to collect her thoughts as the new Sentinel Phocion questioned her. About her and her family... she questioned that herself, some. Why her mother and siblings were so convinced of coming to Solunarium was something only her mother knew, perhaps a feeling of lost love since her father had died, or a desire for change, to bury herself in the sand, to flee from conflicts that Mirza herself was too young to know about.
She blinked a few times and returned her gaze to the moonborn's. "I am a hunter. My family is my two brothers and my sister, of ages between thirteen and two hundred. My eldest brother should have long left the clutch, but we have stayed together. I am the only half-ling. My mother is five hundred years old, and she has had children before us, but we are the ones whom she clings to. I am twenty-five.
My father was a deserter of the military here, the Golden Guard. He fled into the Commonwealth, a failson of a family who could still claim Re'hyaen blood. He wove long tales of Solunarium and Lisymidris would listen, enraptured. She is old, but she is not wise. She thrives on instinct. But she is clever."
Mirza tapped a claw nervously on the table, afraid she may have misspoken. "She knows the wildlands of the Commonwealth in great depth, especially near the border, near Sentrium. She lives only six day's walk away. I do not think my father was a noble man in intentions or spirit, but he captured her greatest attention. I do not know, personally, the details of your Zalkyrian dynasty. I was sent to find out if it was even possible. I am the least threatening, and the wild clings to them far deeper than it does to me." She tilted her head to the side with as-yet unbroken eye contact to Phocion. "Does your lord dislike green dragons?"
