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10-24-2016, 08:48 AM
Walking barefoot in the snow
The wind howled, soon the storm would arrive, but at least there was some shelter in the forests of the Threshold. Better to be here than out in the open where one might be an easier target for a stray bolt of lightening. Inari and Ríona clutched tighter onto their piles of acorns, a precious cargo bound for the edge of the world, so the youngest of them might find the winter easier and less laborious. Yet, Sacre was less interested in the brewing concoction of wind, rain and thunder in the distance and rather his eyes, like lapis lazuli, were more bound to the mare bone picking without a care. She had a skull tied into her forelock like this was some strange hobby of hers. Perhaps it was. He couldn’t see any repulsion in her as she plucked up a stray bone and, in fact, the only repulsion she appeared to show is for himself? Sacre? The fox-boy?
At first, with panic carving into his expression, he is frantically confused at her sudden bark from nowhere and he casts his head about in fear, not trusting Helovia to be truly demon free. “Where?” his voice dropped in dread and horror crept up onto his face. Not that he’d ever seen a demon before, or if he had he didn’t know about it, but he danced around agitated anyway. Where was it? He couldn’t see a demon anywhere? Turning back to the painted bone collector he suddenly realised that it was him she was gritting her teeth at and it was he, the whimsical Nurse, who was the ‘demon’ here. “Me?” he exclaimed incredulously and his eyes seemed to grow even wider. How could she think he was a demon? Was it his markings? Sometimes, in the past, Sacre had come across the odd one or two who had thought badly of him because of the red stain that splattered his side. Luckily, that was only a marking, a stain where on his father there had been a series of moons—if anything it was a symbol of his father’s rage. Yet, never before had anyone thought him a demon. “I’m not a demon” he denied in dismay, it wasn’t like he was an angel, but he wasn’t a demon either. “What makes you think I’m a demon?” he asked, finding it rather ironic suddenly that the mare who was picking up bones of the dead thought he was the devilish being here. |
@Cathleen
There's something wretched about this
Something so precious about this
❚ Force permitted!
❚ Please tag me!
