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Just like those lonely months spent in captivity, in isolation. I couldn't broach a useful conversation -- nor question or test his morals.
In all ways, we are perfect strangers; tethered by experience, but wholly ignorant. We hardly knew anything about each other. And despite the slew of unanswered questions that circle my mind regarding him, flagging caution, begging for answer…I feel myself softening, favoring his charitable perception. Despite our obvious differences, he is steady in provision. Noah’s empathy and tolerance continue to surprise, befuddle and refresh me; but I had no template to compare him with. He is different from everything I’d known before. Unlike my captors, he didn’t use physical/emotional leverage to hold me beneath his heel, tether our conversation with threats, guilt or false hope; nor did he root our newborn bond with confusion and riddles…the eagle speaks and acts purposely, choosing simple responses rather than the rapid, complex utterance of those who’d come before him. Ears prick, quenching my socially starved mind on his downpour of mercy and consideration.
When the question of my well-being arose, a meek smile filters in …and for the first time in a long while…my answer isn’t born from what he expected to hear – nor does it rise with an obligation to conceal emotion. “Yes,” lips murmur; I nod, further supporting my reply as a genuine one.
Irises drop to the turf he’d brought along. Consideration weighs the risk – my hungry gut snarls, angered by the delay.
Those quivering, grumbling innards overwhelm the debate; physical need summons me closer. Go ahead, it seems to whisper, imploring. Though my eyes are fixed somewhere between the ground and his forelimbs – my imagination runs amuck and assumes the weight of his eyes are on me nevertheless. Judging me? Goose chills rise on my skin, enticing a shiver...Yet, also making me uncomfortably hot despite the lukewarm glare of sunlight. Nostrils lower, stretching to arrive at my destination before the vast majority of me does. Ears creep forward, habit embedded awareness. The sweet, sugared aroma wafers eagerly upward – enticing my hunger to become more insistent. His scent lavishes the blades, I lean down, irises crane up…asking permission before sinking to snag mouthful into my hungry, baited jaws. The emerald grains settle lightly into my belly. Before long, the entire offering has vanished. Unflinchingly, my snout drifts over the floor, harrowing in on the remainder. Feathers quiver, rustling against my trembling, sweltered flesh. They loosen for comfort, allowing air to flow between those humid contours.
The meager (but thoughtful) stash might’ve kept hunger at bay during fits of sleep – but it wasn’t nearly enough now. If anything, my craving for nourishment doubled. Gems lift, studying the male with passive intrigue, rather than fabricated animosity. He’d put everything on the line for me…and went further still. Noah...he offered uncustomary warmth and security; frosty negativity has already begun to fade. His empathy fans the ember of trust…I feel a change in my regard for him. There is something waking in the darkness; something beyond the simple desire to understand and be understood.
There are few similarities, physically, we are as different as the moon and sun.
He. A golden, dappled king with upstanding breeding and gorgeous, masculine anatomy. And I? A gutter wench; the depraved pet who’d slipped her collar. My heartstrings throb nervously, resonating a warning to tread with caution. But as I study the kindly, boxy, sculpted line along his jaw and drift downward – my gaze and focus become centered on the badges he earned for my sake. Shame devastates me, my bemused, inquisitive exploration crumbles; the price of freedom shouldn’t have been his to pay. Had I remained a captive, our chance meeting wouldn’t have transpired. Perhaps even, the traumatizing of his impeccable canvas would’ve been avoided.
Paper thin nostrils flare, drowning in the pheromones of unmarked terrain. That self-preserving, learnt instinct to be the wall flower – to feel self-conscious and cautious -- becomes momentary preoccupied with compassion and the all-consuming flavor of him. To me…he smelled like summertime, salt and sun-dried wheat. But also, there was something sweet and inviting about him… like the shade of a weeping pine or the cool, forgiving soil beside a stream. Brows arch, signaling questions that I didn’t know how to ask. Instead…I follow the pull of my subconscious as she eases me closer. Forefeet edge a step or so in his direction, my neck extends – asking for permission to solidify upon his marred tawny skin. Erase the damage, take the wound upon myself. Between us, that static, taunt air seems to crack; my pulse thickens, drumming loudly. Another spasm of heat rises to my face, yet, I surge with the desire to breach that bubble of seclusion. Wordlessly sooth and answer his compassion with something tangible. Something he could see and feel – since our words couldn’t accurately express gratitude or pity. The insecurity and possibility of rejection comes blaring into view only when turning back becomes awkward and impossible for me.
Irises are locked upon those brackish lines, tears prick the corners – a fist grabs my throat, constricting airflow. I freeze, halfway immersed in my breach of our personal space. That dark memory of our collective demon pours itself over me; a drench, it ices the warmth in my eyes and wounds the starving trust in my expression. I’ve poured my grief into the furthest corners, fabricating a shield, a mask; but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there, “ow,” I whisper remorsefully, sympathetically; all the while blinking back those withheld drops of salty water, even as they burn to fall.
OC: @Noah
In all ways, we are perfect strangers; tethered by experience, but wholly ignorant. We hardly knew anything about each other. And despite the slew of unanswered questions that circle my mind regarding him, flagging caution, begging for answer…I feel myself softening, favoring his charitable perception. Despite our obvious differences, he is steady in provision. Noah’s empathy and tolerance continue to surprise, befuddle and refresh me; but I had no template to compare him with. He is different from everything I’d known before. Unlike my captors, he didn’t use physical/emotional leverage to hold me beneath his heel, tether our conversation with threats, guilt or false hope; nor did he root our newborn bond with confusion and riddles…the eagle speaks and acts purposely, choosing simple responses rather than the rapid, complex utterance of those who’d come before him. Ears prick, quenching my socially starved mind on his downpour of mercy and consideration.
When the question of my well-being arose, a meek smile filters in …and for the first time in a long while…my answer isn’t born from what he expected to hear – nor does it rise with an obligation to conceal emotion. “Yes,” lips murmur; I nod, further supporting my reply as a genuine one.
Irises drop to the turf he’d brought along. Consideration weighs the risk – my hungry gut snarls, angered by the delay.
Those quivering, grumbling innards overwhelm the debate; physical need summons me closer. Go ahead, it seems to whisper, imploring. Though my eyes are fixed somewhere between the ground and his forelimbs – my imagination runs amuck and assumes the weight of his eyes are on me nevertheless. Judging me? Goose chills rise on my skin, enticing a shiver...Yet, also making me uncomfortably hot despite the lukewarm glare of sunlight. Nostrils lower, stretching to arrive at my destination before the vast majority of me does. Ears creep forward, habit embedded awareness. The sweet, sugared aroma wafers eagerly upward – enticing my hunger to become more insistent. His scent lavishes the blades, I lean down, irises crane up…asking permission before sinking to snag mouthful into my hungry, baited jaws. The emerald grains settle lightly into my belly. Before long, the entire offering has vanished. Unflinchingly, my snout drifts over the floor, harrowing in on the remainder. Feathers quiver, rustling against my trembling, sweltered flesh. They loosen for comfort, allowing air to flow between those humid contours.
The meager (but thoughtful) stash might’ve kept hunger at bay during fits of sleep – but it wasn’t nearly enough now. If anything, my craving for nourishment doubled. Gems lift, studying the male with passive intrigue, rather than fabricated animosity. He’d put everything on the line for me…and went further still. Noah...he offered uncustomary warmth and security; frosty negativity has already begun to fade. His empathy fans the ember of trust…I feel a change in my regard for him. There is something waking in the darkness; something beyond the simple desire to understand and be understood.
There are few similarities, physically, we are as different as the moon and sun.
He. A golden, dappled king with upstanding breeding and gorgeous, masculine anatomy. And I? A gutter wench; the depraved pet who’d slipped her collar. My heartstrings throb nervously, resonating a warning to tread with caution. But as I study the kindly, boxy, sculpted line along his jaw and drift downward – my gaze and focus become centered on the badges he earned for my sake. Shame devastates me, my bemused, inquisitive exploration crumbles; the price of freedom shouldn’t have been his to pay. Had I remained a captive, our chance meeting wouldn’t have transpired. Perhaps even, the traumatizing of his impeccable canvas would’ve been avoided.
Paper thin nostrils flare, drowning in the pheromones of unmarked terrain. That self-preserving, learnt instinct to be the wall flower – to feel self-conscious and cautious -- becomes momentary preoccupied with compassion and the all-consuming flavor of him. To me…he smelled like summertime, salt and sun-dried wheat. But also, there was something sweet and inviting about him… like the shade of a weeping pine or the cool, forgiving soil beside a stream. Brows arch, signaling questions that I didn’t know how to ask. Instead…I follow the pull of my subconscious as she eases me closer. Forefeet edge a step or so in his direction, my neck extends – asking for permission to solidify upon his marred tawny skin. Erase the damage, take the wound upon myself. Between us, that static, taunt air seems to crack; my pulse thickens, drumming loudly. Another spasm of heat rises to my face, yet, I surge with the desire to breach that bubble of seclusion. Wordlessly sooth and answer his compassion with something tangible. Something he could see and feel – since our words couldn’t accurately express gratitude or pity. The insecurity and possibility of rejection comes blaring into view only when turning back becomes awkward and impossible for me.
Irises are locked upon those brackish lines, tears prick the corners – a fist grabs my throat, constricting airflow. I freeze, halfway immersed in my breach of our personal space. That dark memory of our collective demon pours itself over me; a drench, it ices the warmth in my eyes and wounds the starving trust in my expression. I’ve poured my grief into the furthest corners, fabricating a shield, a mask; but that didn’t mean it wasn’t still there, “ow,” I whisper remorsefully, sympathetically; all the while blinking back those withheld drops of salty water, even as they burn to fall.
OC: @Noah
