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12-13-2013, 07:09 AM
@[Brisa] and open!
Everyone has to sleep—and dream—sometimes.
It was blessedly quiet in the thick darkness of his mind. A good kind of quiet, too. For a time his thoughts had been silent, the numb, dumb kind, but now it was more like peace. If his days had been dreary and muted, his nights had been chaotic, fragmented, bits and pieces, sudden starts and fear choking up his throat, nightmare flashes and fire, fire, fire. Every thing he had not felt during the days came awake when he slept, only to fade when he awoke to yet another apathetic day. But not anymore. Legs folded beneath a thick white frame, muzzle resting against snowy knees, and behind the lidded, blue eyes, things were calm, deep, and heavy. In a nearby tree, a weeping willow by the lake's mirror-like surface, Irma perched. Her wings were folded to her sides, the dragon's head distorted, and her sensitive ears pinpointed every sound, followed by her keen gaze. She would let nothing sneak upon them, to startle her poor, stupid friend awake, or maybe even harm him.
No wind stirred their peaceful little corner of the world, and not much else seemed to stir either. The autumn sunlight filtered down through branches that had since long lost their green summer luster, and wrapped itself like a blanket of warmth around them. Irma's eyes swept the scene again, from Mauja lying in quiet repose by the lakeside, to the slow dance of dust motes, to a mouse's scurrying journey through the trampled-down and browning grasses. Irma's hunger stirred, but her current duty was far, far more important than her own belly. Many things that went through Mauja's mind these days were things she did not understand, for the life of her couldn't fathom or figure out—he seemed obsessed with the idea of change, of being someone else, when, truly, he was who he had always been. Polite, kind, cruel, protective and loyal—if anything, the only difference would be honest. She had not told him, though. She was there, as she always was, and always would be, sometimes close, sometimes further away, but always there. He just needed to figure the rest out for himself, though she hoped he did it soon. Maybe she would lose her slim patience otherwise, and whack him atop the head.
Maybe she should do that anyway.
A faint breeze stirred, rustled the hanging willow branches and invited some of autumn's chill to nibble at the early sunlight. Irma sighed a bird's sigh, and for a moment rested her gaze on Mauja. She wasn't sure if he even knew how she watched over him when he slept—how she always had, always would, the mantra of their bond, wasn't it? Forever and ever, loyal and cold. But, regardless, it was a long time since she'd seen him look so at peace, since his dreaming mind hadn't crowded their bond with fragments of terror and screaming confusion. Selfishly she appreciated the change, and lovingly she traced the tranquil, smooth lines of his sleeping face. Then her icy gaze swept on, and her ears muted out the sound of his even breathing. She, the sentinel, needed her senses for the world, to keep him safe from harm as the morning hours slowly passed.
Everyone has to sleep—and dream—sometimes.
It was blessedly quiet in the thick darkness of his mind. A good kind of quiet, too. For a time his thoughts had been silent, the numb, dumb kind, but now it was more like peace. If his days had been dreary and muted, his nights had been chaotic, fragmented, bits and pieces, sudden starts and fear choking up his throat, nightmare flashes and fire, fire, fire. Every thing he had not felt during the days came awake when he slept, only to fade when he awoke to yet another apathetic day. But not anymore. Legs folded beneath a thick white frame, muzzle resting against snowy knees, and behind the lidded, blue eyes, things were calm, deep, and heavy. In a nearby tree, a weeping willow by the lake's mirror-like surface, Irma perched. Her wings were folded to her sides, the dragon's head distorted, and her sensitive ears pinpointed every sound, followed by her keen gaze. She would let nothing sneak upon them, to startle her poor, stupid friend awake, or maybe even harm him.
No wind stirred their peaceful little corner of the world, and not much else seemed to stir either. The autumn sunlight filtered down through branches that had since long lost their green summer luster, and wrapped itself like a blanket of warmth around them. Irma's eyes swept the scene again, from Mauja lying in quiet repose by the lakeside, to the slow dance of dust motes, to a mouse's scurrying journey through the trampled-down and browning grasses. Irma's hunger stirred, but her current duty was far, far more important than her own belly. Many things that went through Mauja's mind these days were things she did not understand, for the life of her couldn't fathom or figure out—he seemed obsessed with the idea of change, of being someone else, when, truly, he was who he had always been. Polite, kind, cruel, protective and loyal—if anything, the only difference would be honest. She had not told him, though. She was there, as she always was, and always would be, sometimes close, sometimes further away, but always there. He just needed to figure the rest out for himself, though she hoped he did it soon. Maybe she would lose her slim patience otherwise, and whack him atop the head.
Maybe she should do that anyway.
A faint breeze stirred, rustled the hanging willow branches and invited some of autumn's chill to nibble at the early sunlight. Irma sighed a bird's sigh, and for a moment rested her gaze on Mauja. She wasn't sure if he even knew how she watched over him when he slept—how she always had, always would, the mantra of their bond, wasn't it? Forever and ever, loyal and cold. But, regardless, it was a long time since she'd seen him look so at peace, since his dreaming mind hadn't crowded their bond with fragments of terror and screaming confusion. Selfishly she appreciated the change, and lovingly she traced the tranquil, smooth lines of his sleeping face. Then her icy gaze swept on, and her ears muted out the sound of his even breathing. She, the sentinel, needed her senses for the world, to keep him safe from harm as the morning hours slowly passed.
