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01-02-2017, 02:57 PM
Art by Neverr ♥
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
Beneath the anger pulsing like hammers on hot iron, there was something else. Something more dangerous. Something more deadly.
Something frightened.
A tight, cold vice around his heart, a shadow chasing his pulse, a noose tightening around his neck. A sickness threatening to break out in sweat and ice spires, an attempt to purge and cleanse this stain with blood.
The voice, at first a whisper, grew into a shout, as hard eyes watched Raeden cheat death; is this what we have become?
Iona was on his side. Oizys was not. Kiuaji said nothing, merely watched.
The fighting stilled, and Raeden turned to them. The Laurelin said dangerous things to Iona, little triggers with too short-fuses and dynamite at the other end. He breathed fire on gunpowder and Mauja didn't know if he wanted to be there when it went off. It would be as messy as his tight fear, as his need to run somewhere far away, leave all this shit behind and live happily—peacefully—in a little field of bright flowers and snuggly, warm rabbits.
His gaze, neutral and shielded, just blue as if his ability to hold opinions had died, passed over those gathered. How many of them needed to be there? Did they have a right to witness this depravity, just because they lived here?
Show's over. Go home. Be ashamed of your kin, and how low we have fallen.
"Iona," he called, finally moving, detached and disconnected; a mountain falling, and somewhere, distantly, he was surprised that he hadn't even wobbled. He walked straight, even, somehow. Even his voice didn't betray him, steady as the glaciers, raw as the storm. "Tilney. Lya—" But she was gone, staring out over the Edge, lost in her own world. "Lyanna?" he called, hoping she would not throw herself while they did not look. He looked at the others gathered, but said nothing. If they tried to intervene, he'd throw them out. So until they did.. innocent.
And then he was where he needed to be, but where he did not want to be. Where he stared in the face of all things wrong and poisonous with their kind, all things he wished to remove from the face of their land, a vile venom he had no antidote for. He wanted to snap, to snarl, to bury his horn deep in the gelding's chest, but that would make him no better.
Truth had as many shapes as there were minds to think.
"Were you under orders to go to the Dragon's Throat?" he asked the gelding, voice neutral, eyes once more alive. His body spoke nothing of anger anymore, only the infinite patience and mercilessness of winter.
[ If you guys want to continue it in Lyanna's thread that might be neat? If not, due to dual timelines, Lyanna probably won't be here for the rest. @Toulouse @Raeden ]
Something frightened.
A tight, cold vice around his heart, a shadow chasing his pulse, a noose tightening around his neck. A sickness threatening to break out in sweat and ice spires, an attempt to purge and cleanse this stain with blood.
The voice, at first a whisper, grew into a shout, as hard eyes watched Raeden cheat death; is this what we have become?
Iona was on his side. Oizys was not. Kiuaji said nothing, merely watched.
The fighting stilled, and Raeden turned to them. The Laurelin said dangerous things to Iona, little triggers with too short-fuses and dynamite at the other end. He breathed fire on gunpowder and Mauja didn't know if he wanted to be there when it went off. It would be as messy as his tight fear, as his need to run somewhere far away, leave all this shit behind and live happily—peacefully—in a little field of bright flowers and snuggly, warm rabbits.
His gaze, neutral and shielded, just blue as if his ability to hold opinions had died, passed over those gathered. How many of them needed to be there? Did they have a right to witness this depravity, just because they lived here?
Show's over. Go home. Be ashamed of your kin, and how low we have fallen.
"Iona," he called, finally moving, detached and disconnected; a mountain falling, and somewhere, distantly, he was surprised that he hadn't even wobbled. He walked straight, even, somehow. Even his voice didn't betray him, steady as the glaciers, raw as the storm. "Tilney. Lya—" But she was gone, staring out over the Edge, lost in her own world. "Lyanna?" he called, hoping she would not throw herself while they did not look. He looked at the others gathered, but said nothing. If they tried to intervene, he'd throw them out. So until they did.. innocent.
And then he was where he needed to be, but where he did not want to be. Where he stared in the face of all things wrong and poisonous with their kind, all things he wished to remove from the face of their land, a vile venom he had no antidote for. He wanted to snap, to snarl, to bury his horn deep in the gelding's chest, but that would make him no better.
Truth had as many shapes as there were minds to think.
"Were you under orders to go to the Dragon's Throat?" he asked the gelding, voice neutral, eyes once more alive. His body spoke nothing of anger anymore, only the infinite patience and mercilessness of winter.
[ If you guys want to continue it in Lyanna's thread that might be neat? If not, due to dual timelines, Lyanna probably won't be here for the rest. @Toulouse @Raeden ]
