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02-15-2017, 08:07 PM
They say an elephant’s eyes speak the greatest language
”Elephant King…I wish to leave the Edge.”
The words both are and are not what the man expected to hear. His mind was too exhausted and weighted by worry and loss to have expected anything. Though, once he hears the words, he vaguely wonders if Nyx would approve of her blood abandoning the Edge—although Oizys (and her absent sister, Enyo) are not of Nyx’s blood. They were adopted foals, raised on the Ironheart’s teat. But these are all numb, distant thoughts that float through the anguished fog of the King’s mind.
His sweeping, tired steps slow as he indistinctly noticed the struggle of Oizy’s shorter strides (though the yearling was tall for her age) to keep up with his. Thick neck arched to the side, navy eyes studying the filly’s pale blue eyes (—Nyx’s eyes—), and a slow breath pushed out of his nostrils.
“These are not words you will believe, now, but you are not to blame for Nyx’s death,” was his quiet, deep reply. He paused for a moment, lips pressed and ears tilted back as his gaze probed hers, and then, “She loved battle and she loved her children.” He stopped, then, knowing that the filly did not need to hear absolution.
She need permission. Permission to visit her mother’s grave. “However, I understand if you must leave. You may visit her whenever you wish.”
The words both are and are not what the man expected to hear. His mind was too exhausted and weighted by worry and loss to have expected anything. Though, once he hears the words, he vaguely wonders if Nyx would approve of her blood abandoning the Edge—although Oizys (and her absent sister, Enyo) are not of Nyx’s blood. They were adopted foals, raised on the Ironheart’s teat. But these are all numb, distant thoughts that float through the anguished fog of the King’s mind.
His sweeping, tired steps slow as he indistinctly noticed the struggle of Oizy’s shorter strides (though the yearling was tall for her age) to keep up with his. Thick neck arched to the side, navy eyes studying the filly’s pale blue eyes (—Nyx’s eyes—), and a slow breath pushed out of his nostrils.
“These are not words you will believe, now, but you are not to blame for Nyx’s death,” was his quiet, deep reply. He paused for a moment, lips pressed and ears tilted back as his gaze probed hers, and then, “She loved battle and she loved her children.” He stopped, then, knowing that the filly did not need to hear absolution.
She need permission. Permission to visit her mother’s grave. “However, I understand if you must leave. You may visit her whenever you wish.”
What else could make you feel so much without a word?
@Oizys sorry for the delay! I'll try to keep it short & quick!
Please tag Tembovu.
