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the tempest of an unrelenting sea
“…like when she’s riding n my back while we’re flying. She likes to send pictures.” Scaled ears perk ever so slightly, head cocking somewhat. The little chick rode on his back? Large eyes leave his face, gaze traveling to the broad expanse of muscular back between his folded wings— what would it be like to fly?
Slightly curious, distracted gaze blinks abruptly, jerking back to his his face at his apology. A small frown on her own face mirrors his as she reins in the strange direction of her thoughts. She was an Akvian, a horse of the sea. Her place was not among the clouds; it was among the coral and currents.
Though she is not left long to dwell on the strangeness of her thoughts, as he continues with heavy thoughts. “‘Liberation’?” The four-syllabic word comes whip-like from her mouth. She spoke of her home for but second of her home, and suddenly he ‘knew’ she wanted to be liberated? Something dangerous washed across her angular features, ridges growing with her ire. Liberation was not what she sought.
But this man, ‘Darwin’, is continuing, spilling heavy words of a sad history upon sands that were both foreign and familiar to the mare. The dangerous gleam in her large eyes quiets, though her ridges do not shrink until he finished last utterance. “Eventually everyone ends up back where they started… I hope you will too.”
She watched the gentle sway of his beard (perhaps there was something redeeming about the hairy adornment). The flood of emotions wove their complex deluge in her mind— a mind that was more used to assessing risks than balancing a sentimental checkbook. And the severe woman huffed softly to herself, forcefully pushing aside these thoughts.
Instead, she shifted her gaze from his beard to his eyes, bluntly changing the topic, “When will she fly on her own?” Hmm, so perhaps not an entire change of subject— just a resurfacing of her early thoughts of flying on his back, in a subdued and roundabout context.
Slightly curious, distracted gaze blinks abruptly, jerking back to his his face at his apology. A small frown on her own face mirrors his as she reins in the strange direction of her thoughts. She was an Akvian, a horse of the sea. Her place was not among the clouds; it was among the coral and currents.
Though she is not left long to dwell on the strangeness of her thoughts, as he continues with heavy thoughts. “‘Liberation’?” The four-syllabic word comes whip-like from her mouth. She spoke of her home for but second of her home, and suddenly he ‘knew’ she wanted to be liberated? Something dangerous washed across her angular features, ridges growing with her ire. Liberation was not what she sought.
But this man, ‘Darwin’, is continuing, spilling heavy words of a sad history upon sands that were both foreign and familiar to the mare. The dangerous gleam in her large eyes quiets, though her ridges do not shrink until he finished last utterance. “Eventually everyone ends up back where they started… I hope you will too.”
She watched the gentle sway of his beard (perhaps there was something redeeming about the hairy adornment). The flood of emotions wove their complex deluge in her mind— a mind that was more used to assessing risks than balancing a sentimental checkbook. And the severe woman huffed softly to herself, forcefully pushing aside these thoughts.
Instead, she shifted her gaze from his beard to his eyes, bluntly changing the topic, “When will she fly on her own?” Hmm, so perhaps not an entire change of subject— just a resurfacing of her early thoughts of flying on his back, in a subdued and roundabout context.
@Darwin
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
