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06-29-2017, 12:27 AM
They say an elephant’s eyes speak the greatest language
The Elephant was still. A statue of grey ivory; of tense skin and creased brow. A dark face, lined in…desolation.
Not because of his abdication—no, that depression had been (somewhat) lifted by the tasks of his quest and the reassurances of Rexanna (both physical and emotional). The purpose that Kingship had given him was an empty hole… But time spent with both his lover and his children had made him realize how much purpose he had.
It was because of what he had seen. Or, what Mbwene had seen, and shared with him. Though the sights shared with him through their bond had been slightly… off and distorted, the great man was more concerned with what they where than the manner in which they appeared.
Navy blue eyes, which had been staring down, down, down the misted, white cliffs squeezed shut for a moment; black-rimmed ears tilted back. But his eyes didn’t stay closed for long. Behind those dark lids were visions Mbwene had seen and his pulsing, angry, hurt mind was masochistically ready to relive them (—red limbs gripping soft, golden, thin skin; gentle touches of a pale pink muzzle against a red, masculine hide—).
So, he stared. Down, down, further, further. Down those crumbling white cliffs; as crumbling as the world was around him. A tightly clenching jaw and deep, sharp breaths were the only things marking him living creature, rather than statue.
Not because of his abdication—no, that depression had been (somewhat) lifted by the tasks of his quest and the reassurances of Rexanna (both physical and emotional). The purpose that Kingship had given him was an empty hole… But time spent with both his lover and his children had made him realize how much purpose he had.
It was because of what he had seen. Or, what Mbwene had seen, and shared with him. Though the sights shared with him through their bond had been slightly… off and distorted, the great man was more concerned with what they where than the manner in which they appeared.
Navy blue eyes, which had been staring down, down, down the misted, white cliffs squeezed shut for a moment; black-rimmed ears tilted back. But his eyes didn’t stay closed for long. Behind those dark lids were visions Mbwene had seen and his pulsing, angry, hurt mind was masochistically ready to relive them (—red limbs gripping soft, golden, thin skin; gentle touches of a pale pink muzzle against a red, masculine hide—).
So, he stared. Down, down, further, further. Down those crumbling white cliffs; as crumbling as the world was around him. A tightly clenching jaw and deep, sharp breaths were the only things marking him living creature, rather than statue.
What else could make you feel so much without a word?
@Roskuld kickstart the TEMBO plz
Please tag Tembovu.
