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fear the vulture and it will come. fear nothing and you are the vulture.
It was like he was swimming beneath the waves with Kisamoa once again. Everything was sluggish—his mind, the fluttering of butterfly wings around the fillies— and sounds were distorted—“…that happened with the Kaos God, I was unwilling to risk them.” The idea of not wanting to risk children…it was odd to Gaal. It hinted at some deep, maternal love; something he had felt only in short spurts and seen in mere glimpses from his birth mother. His step-mother had shown him none; and his father…well, he had Gaal in plenty of harm’s way.
So the giant vulture remained stock-still, red-hot eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at the frolicking fillies. Though his starkly white ears remained trained on Najya, listening to every word as if it would save him from this roaring, looming, panicked blackness in his mind and chest.
“…you the opportunity to meet your children…”
His ears twitched. His eyes blinked.
“…meet your children…””
His body jerked. His eyes widened as the winged filly slowly sidled closer to he and Najya.
“…your children…””
He could not look away from the winged filly’s smile. He couldn’t find any words, his gruff voice had abandoned him. Instead, aching heat burned in his throat while colors wobbled around the vision of a child (a daughter) that was suddenly talking to him.
And it was her words that shattered through his frozen state—and he did shatter. Pieces fell apart within him; walls built by a loveless foal hood came tumbling down in his chest. His hide spasmed, legs beginning to tremble as instinct roughly flew out his massive wings and flapped them laboriously, whipping the long grasses in a sudden windstorm. “Geen,” was his only word, pushed out on a rough and forced exhale by the pure force of his pumping wings as he took to the skies.
“Because they’re extraordinary, Gaal, and I won’t have them hurt.”
Nayja’s words echoed and shouted through his skull as he escaped. He couldn’t be a father. He couldn’t do to those sweet, bright-eyed fillies what had been done to him.
“I won’t have them hurt.”
Geen = No
So the giant vulture remained stock-still, red-hot eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at the frolicking fillies. Though his starkly white ears remained trained on Najya, listening to every word as if it would save him from this roaring, looming, panicked blackness in his mind and chest.
“…you the opportunity to meet your children…”
His ears twitched. His eyes blinked.
“…meet your children…””
His body jerked. His eyes widened as the winged filly slowly sidled closer to he and Najya.
“…your children…””
He could not look away from the winged filly’s smile. He couldn’t find any words, his gruff voice had abandoned him. Instead, aching heat burned in his throat while colors wobbled around the vision of a child (a daughter) that was suddenly talking to him.
And it was her words that shattered through his frozen state—and he did shatter. Pieces fell apart within him; walls built by a loveless foal hood came tumbling down in his chest. His hide spasmed, legs beginning to tremble as instinct roughly flew out his massive wings and flapped them laboriously, whipping the long grasses in a sudden windstorm. “Geen,” was his only word, pushed out on a rough and forced exhale by the pure force of his pumping wings as he took to the skies.
“Because they’re extraordinary, Gaal, and I won’t have them hurt.”
Nayja’s words echoed and shouted through his skull as he escaped. He couldn’t be a father. He couldn’t do to those sweet, bright-eyed fillies what had been done to him.
“I won’t have them hurt.”
Geen = No
graasvoel
@Najya @Melita @Clementine
Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.
