#arenna

Once she’d test them, their strength, the stability they gave to a rider not herself, Keaton deemed them ready. She took Arenna by the hand and guided her into the woods, where both dragons stood together in their new leathers awaiting their arrival. “You’ll not have to clutch to scales now,” she said as they approached, excitement glittering in her sharp green eyes. “I know I make riding that way seem simple, but I think it wouldn’t be very easy for anyone else. This way I’ll know you’re safe when you’re on Thaven.” They reached said dragon just as she said his name, her hand going out automatically to stroke the sleek white scales on his neck. He made a sound not too dissimilar from a cat’s purr, head coming around so that his great muzzle -- wider now than Arenna herself -- bumped the Jarlfru lightly in greeting. “So if you’re ready to try, Ren... I can take you up today. Right now.”

She rose and dressed, her motions sluggish and habitual more than anything. There was a bit of fumbling with the unfamiliar clothing, but she managed alright. She braided her hair, tied it back with a leather strip that had been recommended to her by the merchant with the dresses. With or without Rowan, she had to move on and live her life. She still had Arenna to get to know, a village to familiarize herself with. Things to do besides pine for a woman she was fairly sure wouldn’t be coming back. Even as the thought made her heart ache, Isolde squared her shoulders and left her hut, walking with dragging feet to the longhouse where Arenna resided. It was Joorah she met on her way there, and the man pointed her back towards the stables where Arenna and Keaton had gone for an early morning ride. “If you wait around there, you might catch them as they return,” he told her, and with a quiet thank you, Isolde began the long walk in that direction.

She wasn’t fond of horses really, but more because their size and strength unsettled her. Especially these Ranaki war horses, who were massive beyond her comprehension. The old gelding she’d brought with her to this place looked minuscule in comparison, and housed as he was now in the stables, the comparison was easy to make. The smell and sound of horses did not, therefore, sooth her the way it seemed to comfort those more familiar with the beasts. Beyond the sound of horses, however, Isolde thought she heard voices, so she stepped through the open front doors to check and see if her sister had returned.

And indeed she had. The pair of them stood beside one half-groomed horse, as if they’d only ridden just the one mount. Together. A strange enough thing, that, but more telling was how she found them now-- Arenna pinned against the stall door of what she assumed was the tethered horse, Keaton pressed into her, hips to hips and breasts to breasts. And Keaton’s lips against Arenna’s neck, her hands settled at her waist. Isolde felt the heat spread instantly up her neck and into her face as her eyes went wide. Because finally she knew what Keaton was to her sister, and it was a lover. 

“I’m sorry,” she gasped out, turning away from them to afford them some privacy. “I was-- I just came to look for you, Arenna, I didn’t mean to intrude. I thought I heard voices and Joorah had said you’d gone for a ride so I figured you might have just arrived and I am so, so sorry to interrupt, please, I’ll head back and leave you to-- to--”

“Breathe,” Keaton offered from behind her. She rolled her eyes skyward and then looked back to Arenna as if to say, your sister, your problem. “I was just heading out myself, if you’d like to give Arenna a hand with Danske here.” Not altogether true, as Keaton had been planning to thoroughly ravish her pretty lover (again) before tending Danske herself, but she knew Arenna wanted to know her new sister and she didn’t want to take that bonding time away. To Arenna she said, “I’ll see you later,” her lips pressing lightly to hers again. She didn’t worry about Isolde’s judgments, as she knew very well the girl’s own proclivities. With one last look over her shoulder at the startled brunette, Keaton laughed and took off for the opposite door, disappearing through it.

“I’m sorry,” Isolde offered again, weakly now, as she heard Keaton’s steps recede. She turned sheepishly back towards Arenna, fingers twisting nervously together. “I didn’t mean for her to leave either.”

Found a "space rock" playlist on YouTube years ago and have loved the genre ever since.

𝖨 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖨'𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌,

𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾.