Don't Forget Me

the Rift

[PRIVATE] Don't Forget Me

Tandavi The Fire Dancer Posts: 245

World's Edge Nurse atk: 6.5 | def: 9 | dam: 4

Mare :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 5 HP: 65 | Buff: NOVICE

Natraj :: Plain Kitsune :: Fire Charks

#10

02-13-2016, 08:20 PM

TANDAVI & NATRAJ</style>
we walked a lonely road
beneath the fire of a thousand suns</style>

Do you think they care if we mourn?- and copper child wonders, Do I mourn? Is that the rock which sits in her chest, the weight which presses up against her seams, threatening with every moment to shift and tear the girl apart? Mourning, she wonders; for whom? Is it the loss of them which threatens to swallow her, devour her with the appetite of a ravenous beast- or the loss of them, the marching faces, the eyes she remembers (and she remembers them all) staring back at her in the dark? The girl has lost so much she is no longer sure who all her heartache is for. For them? she wonders again, black eyes focused on something only she can see. Or for myself?

She looks up at him, biting softly at a velvet lip as she considers the implications of his words. Do they care, wherever they are: the lost ones, the missing, the ones who left? In the quiet of the meadow the girl considers, her body little more than a vessel for her thoughts. Live, he says, but she is afraid; afraid of living, afraid of moving on, afraid of letting them go. For if she lives when they do not, is it not a betrayal, an abandonment of ideals, of a pledge to love and defend?

Yet what of Sacre, of Semira and Vikram; what of those who are not dead? Fire Dancer would never with apathy on them, could never condemn them to torpor simply because she no longer holds them in her life. Is it not selfish, then, to assume they would wish such dormancy upon her; to blame them for her fear, to hide behind a veil of mourning in the names of those who have no say?

From under long lashes she peers up at Caneo, Caneo who glitters like far distant starlight, Caneo who makes her shake with sincerity, with a yearning to live. Is it not better to burn for those who remain, than to fade in memory of those who are gone?

As though hearing her thoughts he makes her a promise, and the girl's heart clenches against with the confidence of his words; for she does not trust them, cannot trust them, though she may wish it with all her might. Still her lips curl into a smile, something vulnerable creeping across her face; she wants to reach out to him again, to reaffirm that he is real; she wants this moment, this memory, to remain, forever etched so perfect and sharp in her mind. Hesitantly a single gold-dipped leg rises, and the girl braces herself, readies herself, building the will to extend her neck, to let her muscles reach for his; but she pauses, still coiled, before she can spring, his next question making two-tones ears fall. Silver hoof kisses earth again; she lets her expression retreat and distort, carefully held hope falling once more into the soft mask of her gold-slashed smile.

"There will be," she answers, alto tones vague; for she intends, one day, to return to her home, if only she can find herself first. She has been too lost to belong in the Throat, too caught in the night to enjoy the desert's days; and now she is fading again, falling from him, though the light of her eyes does not extinguish- it merely dims, growing further away. For he has a home now, perhaps, a family, love; he is not the lonely boy she remembers, but something bright to aspire toward, and now she is the one who has lost her way. Perhaps, she thinks, when she finds it again, she will find him, too; and perhaps, one day, they shall walk along together, quicksilver and firelight once more.

For now, however, she is content with this memory, with the humming of her chest and the touch of his skin still fresh upon her, enhancing the Fire Dancer's inherent glow. "I should go now," she tells him, and it is true; she should go now, before it is lost, before she wakes up and is empty again. But the sadness is purged from her eyes, and the smile she gives him is genuine, vibrant; and the thing in her heart beats quickly as she turns to depart, black eyes locked on his until her body is twisted and she can see them no longer, until all she can see are the glowing lights of the real world, beckoning, a warm invitation instead of a threat. "Look for me, Caneo," she whispers into the wind; though whether to him or to herself, a request or a prayer, she is not sure.