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i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ I'm sorry for having taken so long on these replies. :/ Love both Glacia and Gwyn. <3 ]
Okay.
That could've gone better.
They both screamed—raw, animal noise, shearing through the peaceful evening and drifting banks of mist. The small black shape backpedaled, taking cover behind the mare who was already throwing herself forward, hooves pounding the earth. Mauja's chest burned. His legs burned. His eyes burned, hot shame wrestling exhaustion, and neither really won out. They hung in perfect balance as he pulled his aching limbs close.
The world swam in his vision. The edges were blurred and dark; the breaths sucked in were a strange contrast to the softness of his voice, a little bit of his history coming alive and masking the rugged noise. His dark nostrils vibrated.
She was crying. Her warm nose touched his face, and the contact sent a jolt through him—it almost hurt, his nerves crying out once in the darkness, but no sound left him. He twitched, but it was barely enough to hold back the flood of exhaustion. For him, it wasn't death crawling up his spine, but sleep. His fragile heart was cradled in magic.
And what had happened to him, indeed? The ocean? Immortality? Life? He stalled, unsure of what to say, what to do—was this what they would've come to anyway, ten years down the road, if he hadn't been the chosen of the Moon? An elder, feeble creature, with soft, painful teeth and arthritis. Would she have taken care of him, lain down next to him to keep him warm on cold nights, and waited by him until the last breath whistled out of his lungs..?
Before he knew it, he was crying too, and the world spun a little as he fell back on his side. For a moment, he was worried that something else—something more sinister—had happened, but then he realized it was only the fact that he hadn't been able to balance his slim bulk in an efficient way, and the last of his strength had given out. So he'd fallen. Just like that. Sprawled inelegantly on his side in the grass, he looked very dead.
"I love you too, Glas," he managed to say, trying to keep the conversation in his head, in a way that it made sense; he was still reeling from the walk, from falling, from.. from Glacia's reaction. No one else had really commented on his state, and part of him understood, belatedly, what a shook it must've been to see this pitiful thing come walking out of the fog.
Well. And she didn't know he couldn't die, right? Gwyn—Ulrik's granddaughter—asked the question, but asked it of Glacia, not of him. "And hello, Gwyn," he managed after a while, not wanting to ignore the kid. Ignoring kids never worked out in anyone's favor. Carefully, he sucked in a deep breath. Held it. The owls sat on the flat of his shoulder now, staring at the horses with smoldering eyes. His heart was beating just a little easier now.
"I fell..into the sea," he began, straining a little to keep his voice above a whisper; he rarely made it more than a few words before he had to inhale, and start up again, "between frostfall..and birdsong. They only got me..out..a few weeks back." Which, yes, translated into I just spent over half a year lying in the water. And he wasn't crazy. He wanted to lift his head off the ground, to bring it closer to her, look her properly in the eyes, but he wouldn't manage to, so he didn't even try. "I..I can't die," he said, not sure how else to put it. Adding so don't worry felt cruel, but he wanted to reassure her—both of them, actually—and he didn't know how.
"Did..did you know..Ulrik was a..a friend of mine?" he said instead.
Because it's totally normal to try and make conversation when you're 99% dead, yep.
[ @Glacia ]
Okay.
That could've gone better.
They both screamed—raw, animal noise, shearing through the peaceful evening and drifting banks of mist. The small black shape backpedaled, taking cover behind the mare who was already throwing herself forward, hooves pounding the earth. Mauja's chest burned. His legs burned. His eyes burned, hot shame wrestling exhaustion, and neither really won out. They hung in perfect balance as he pulled his aching limbs close.
The world swam in his vision. The edges were blurred and dark; the breaths sucked in were a strange contrast to the softness of his voice, a little bit of his history coming alive and masking the rugged noise. His dark nostrils vibrated.
She was crying. Her warm nose touched his face, and the contact sent a jolt through him—it almost hurt, his nerves crying out once in the darkness, but no sound left him. He twitched, but it was barely enough to hold back the flood of exhaustion. For him, it wasn't death crawling up his spine, but sleep. His fragile heart was cradled in magic.
And what had happened to him, indeed? The ocean? Immortality? Life? He stalled, unsure of what to say, what to do—was this what they would've come to anyway, ten years down the road, if he hadn't been the chosen of the Moon? An elder, feeble creature, with soft, painful teeth and arthritis. Would she have taken care of him, lain down next to him to keep him warm on cold nights, and waited by him until the last breath whistled out of his lungs..?
Before he knew it, he was crying too, and the world spun a little as he fell back on his side. For a moment, he was worried that something else—something more sinister—had happened, but then he realized it was only the fact that he hadn't been able to balance his slim bulk in an efficient way, and the last of his strength had given out. So he'd fallen. Just like that. Sprawled inelegantly on his side in the grass, he looked very dead.
"I love you too, Glas," he managed to say, trying to keep the conversation in his head, in a way that it made sense; he was still reeling from the walk, from falling, from.. from Glacia's reaction. No one else had really commented on his state, and part of him understood, belatedly, what a shook it must've been to see this pitiful thing come walking out of the fog.
Well. And she didn't know he couldn't die, right? Gwyn—Ulrik's granddaughter—asked the question, but asked it of Glacia, not of him. "And hello, Gwyn," he managed after a while, not wanting to ignore the kid. Ignoring kids never worked out in anyone's favor. Carefully, he sucked in a deep breath. Held it. The owls sat on the flat of his shoulder now, staring at the horses with smoldering eyes. His heart was beating just a little easier now.
"I fell..into the sea," he began, straining a little to keep his voice above a whisper; he rarely made it more than a few words before he had to inhale, and start up again, "between frostfall..and birdsong. They only got me..out..a few weeks back." Which, yes, translated into I just spent over half a year lying in the water. And he wasn't crazy. He wanted to lift his head off the ground, to bring it closer to her, look her properly in the eyes, but he wouldn't manage to, so he didn't even try. "I..I can't die," he said, not sure how else to put it. Adding so don't worry felt cruel, but he wanted to reassure her—both of them, actually—and he didn't know how.
"Did..did you know..Ulrik was a..a friend of mine?" he said instead.
Because it's totally normal to try and make conversation when you're 99% dead, yep.
[ @Glacia ]
