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fear the vulture and it will come. fear nothing and you are the vulture.
“I speak only the truth,” his gruff voice issued with a wink in response to her accusations of flattery—he was partially in jest. But partially truthful, for anything he said that may get him into the gold lady’s good graces would be something the vulture truly meant.
His starkly white ears remained perked among the massive tangle of his thick, multicolored forelock and mane as the gilded lady spoke—and it would be a lie to say that he was not occasionally distracted by the movement of her bright lips around the words she spoke instead of focusing on what she actually said; but, to the vulture’s credit, he did try, far harder than usual, to truly listen to each and every one of the syllables she spoke.
He’s caught by her smile, hot gaze following her motions as she dips down to the glass piece he had created for her, “To do no xarm unless I must, to protect t’ose I love.” And his sharp gaze blinked at the notion—it reminiscent of his mother. His true mother, not the loveless and manipulate mate to his equally harsh father. A ripple passed through the bulky muscles of his neck as he broke his stare of her face and mouth, yellow and red irises studying the glint of light on glass.
“Perhaps you can erase my ‘bad,’” the rough thought was said offhandedly, a fleeting notion that happened to encompass a much deeper, truer need in the great vulture—one that haphazardly came to the surface in the face of such selflessness in Yael. It was not something the Vulture was familiar with, everything around him in his formative years had been selfish, conniving, greedy.
A low breath pushed out of his nostrils, before he returned his heated gaze (though it was muted slightly, now) back to hers the moment she indicates that he will be a fine Glazier. His heavy head tilted slightly, dark beard swaying with the motion, “You think so?” There is a rawness in the question of his deep husk—so at odds with the playfulness of his earlier words. His own ears twitch as he hears his own words, and so quickly follows them with a blithe, “My skills are not limited just to crafting,” but the mischievous grin that accompanied it wasn’t quite the same as before.
He shifted on thick, feathered limbs as the golden pegasus asked after himself—he had avoided speaking of his past thus far in Helovia. Only Myrrine, the hurting, specked pegasus, had come close to his own ‘ghosts,’ as Yael called them. His hot gaze blazed once as he blinked at her, studying closely the ancient, warm brown eyes and the golden angles of her face.
“As I’ve told you, I come from Dorobo. The Korofi race, specifically—they’re fierce and proud, and violent enough to survive the harsh plateaus. What’s more is they’re glad to live there, in hul ballingskap,” he shook his head slightly, in disbelief at his people as he slipped into the Korofi tongue, before continuing, “But Korofi remember their history and lore as it suits them. I prefer a less…austere lifestyle than the plateaus provide—much to my family’s dismay,” he grinned ruefully, though an entirely unapologetic and wicked gleam in his eye accompanied his words, “And so I left, wandering for a happier, less bleak place to settle.” He trailed into silence, then, mind tumbling over all the parts of his story—of his family— that he had omitted.
His thick, knotted tail swayed aimlessly around his hocks, masking his discomfort, before he said, “Your turn, lovely Yael.”
hul ballingskap = their exile
His starkly white ears remained perked among the massive tangle of his thick, multicolored forelock and mane as the gilded lady spoke—and it would be a lie to say that he was not occasionally distracted by the movement of her bright lips around the words she spoke instead of focusing on what she actually said; but, to the vulture’s credit, he did try, far harder than usual, to truly listen to each and every one of the syllables she spoke.
He’s caught by her smile, hot gaze following her motions as she dips down to the glass piece he had created for her, “To do no xarm unless I must, to protect t’ose I love.” And his sharp gaze blinked at the notion—it reminiscent of his mother. His true mother, not the loveless and manipulate mate to his equally harsh father. A ripple passed through the bulky muscles of his neck as he broke his stare of her face and mouth, yellow and red irises studying the glint of light on glass.
“Perhaps you can erase my ‘bad,’” the rough thought was said offhandedly, a fleeting notion that happened to encompass a much deeper, truer need in the great vulture—one that haphazardly came to the surface in the face of such selflessness in Yael. It was not something the Vulture was familiar with, everything around him in his formative years had been selfish, conniving, greedy.
A low breath pushed out of his nostrils, before he returned his heated gaze (though it was muted slightly, now) back to hers the moment she indicates that he will be a fine Glazier. His heavy head tilted slightly, dark beard swaying with the motion, “You think so?” There is a rawness in the question of his deep husk—so at odds with the playfulness of his earlier words. His own ears twitch as he hears his own words, and so quickly follows them with a blithe, “My skills are not limited just to crafting,” but the mischievous grin that accompanied it wasn’t quite the same as before.
He shifted on thick, feathered limbs as the golden pegasus asked after himself—he had avoided speaking of his past thus far in Helovia. Only Myrrine, the hurting, specked pegasus, had come close to his own ‘ghosts,’ as Yael called them. His hot gaze blazed once as he blinked at her, studying closely the ancient, warm brown eyes and the golden angles of her face.
“As I’ve told you, I come from Dorobo. The Korofi race, specifically—they’re fierce and proud, and violent enough to survive the harsh plateaus. What’s more is they’re glad to live there, in hul ballingskap,” he shook his head slightly, in disbelief at his people as he slipped into the Korofi tongue, before continuing, “But Korofi remember their history and lore as it suits them. I prefer a less…austere lifestyle than the plateaus provide—much to my family’s dismay,” he grinned ruefully, though an entirely unapologetic and wicked gleam in his eye accompanied his words, “And so I left, wandering for a happier, less bleak place to settle.” He trailed into silence, then, mind tumbling over all the parts of his story—of his family— that he had omitted.
His thick, knotted tail swayed aimlessly around his hocks, masking his discomfort, before he said, “Your turn, lovely Yael.”
hul ballingskap = their exile
graasvoel
@Yael
Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.
