[Sica]

Her one sister, Maesa, had risen to become the Saborako. Her other sister, Sol Katti, had risen to become the fairy Sabora. And her nephew, borne to Maesa, had become the last Sabor. Where did that leave her? At best she had been a Whitefeather, a mere Jackdaw in training. A pathetic excuse for a Saboran when compared to her prestigious siblings and lineage. She had told herself year after year that she would rise, surpass their shadows and become at the very least comparable. If not that, then suitable. But time had been her foe, her motivation - no, her muse - lacking almost every step of the way, and shame feeding into itself until she became so accustomed to the shadows that she feared the light. She feared the focus that might be on her should she dare to step out and face the ferocity that was Saboro. That was her family, her heritage, her homeland. Even with the move Sica could not find herself hating the kingdom that grew from ashes time and time again, feeding the soil with blood and reaping the benefits of its sacrifice to new life. It was almost disturbing how such barbarism became an art form, one she had had trouble mastering while jealously gazing at her peers as they seized every opportunity and made the best of it. Here again, deigned a Slab once more and suffering - though perhaps that's too dramatic a word, in all honesty - the consequences of such a lowly rank. She was forced to dwell within the most mundane portions of territory, in this new land, only wishing and fantasizing about what lay beyond in the deeper rings. She couldn't even lie to herself and say she'd experienced it, and therefore had nothing to yearn for. Her time in the third ring had been in the old Saboro, but these new rings held new secrets. Secrets she could only hope to break open should the time come. Should the time come. For now the girl lay idly in the flower fields, her bright crimson eyes focused on one flower then the next, each surrounding her as though an absentee audience to the stand-in star. Was this her chance for fame, when all those family that came before her, riddled with gold medals and crooked crowns, had fallen one by one into obscurity? if they had risen and fallen so far, what sort of future awaited the shadow girl?

text: #a11312

[Ezra]

|♘| saboro |♘|  
the kind heart & slab

"Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one."
-Marcus Aurelius

Each day the passing need to become more than just a "Slab" ate at him, so much of Saboro was hidden from him and the boy with his head in the clouds felt he could help them. They had been spit out of the mouth of evil, the only living things to slip through the dark fangs; it spewed bones and dark curses, and it spewed the failed and the demented. Ezra had gotten the distinct impression that the Saboro that had once been was not the Saboro that these people wanted to be. They wanted to be good, and good was something Ezra was already-- or so he'd like to fancy himself as being. He could help his home, fulfill a task, pull his weight, but already it had sank into his head that it might be beneficial to be a man of influence. A man whose opinion mattered and held weight, a good man in a position of power could only be good could it not? For the boy naive of the true darkness world, he thought so.

He carried himself with a calm confidence, never an overly proud boy, despite his high self esteem. Beautiful blue eyes learning this new terrain, hardy and tough and cold. Very cold. He would survive this winter as it came and went, for a tough man would not fail against something as frivolous as the cold's chill. The boy imagined himself all sorts of heroes and masculine behemoths. A white knight in the least misogynistic way possible. The green mottled boy seemed to live in his head, perhaps Saboro would bring him out into the real world? Time would tell what the cursed pack would do to the hero, but as far as Ezra was concerned, he was the protagonist in a fantastic tale to be told for ages.

The chill did not escape him, but he was quickly adjusting to the temperature and had found thoughtful ways to keep warm. The easiest so far was that which was already most natural to him, running to keep himself in good health. Edging along the side of the ring, careful not to pass over as he was not yet important enough to be within it's bounds-- what a strange system. He did this for some while before something of great interest caught the corner of his eyes past curly bangs. Since he had been in this "new" Saboro territory, he had yet to see flowers, so the field out in front of him caught him in his tracks and he moved in to study them with a calm expression. Heart pounded, if he could sweat he would be but instead he was simply warm in the most comfortable way. A slight movement broke him from his dazed thoughts about blooming flowers in this weather, someone else was here with him. In the south there is a saying, if it was a snake, it would have bit him. Thankfully he had had enough wits about him to not jump when the woman shifted slightly. Instead he would turn to look her over for a moment before deciding the flowers looked fairly comfortable.

A genuine smile pulled onto his face, blue eyes twinkling past curly locks, "Mind if I join ya?" Though he would not wait for an answer before plopping down a respectable distance away. Laying on his stomach, his face low in the flowers so he peered past them. They were nice in a strange sort of way, after all he was a man who had never put much thought into flowers. "Name's Ezra, Slab. What about you miss?"