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07-20-2012, 10:44 AM
They came.
Like flashes of light before the griffon, their bodies slither before him. Broken, anguished, the male does not care to see the living as he once may have. Curiosity is promptly clamped shut in the wake of his partner's death, and he is none too interested in opening it for a bunch of nosey equines. Another sorrowful screech answers Brooke, whose eyes are targeted only on his child, the only existing reminants of his former love besides that of a mangled corpse. Even as her speckled nose reaches for the shell of the egg, the father protectively clasps onto it, pulling it closer to his side, eyes aggressively watching her now.
The next, a mere child, wonders up, her bright eyes full of life and her body a reflection of the sky above, something he would have found lovely a day earlier. While the living are still cloaked in shadow for the griffon, he is quite envious of her natural joy. Oh, to be a youth without responsibility again. There is a glimmer of understanding in her eyes of his grief, though. Perhaps she has felt the sting of loss before or has watched it take over others. He thinks about this quietly as he watches her, even as she apologizes to him, as if she knew what he had lost. She asks if her aid is needed, and sternly, the griffon shakes his feathered head, though his eyes are not so angered as they had been for Brooke.
The last mare truly is a shadow. She is cloaked in the finest garb of black, yet the silver threads of her hair tell him she might once have been touched by the moon. The griffon tilts his head as she speaks, her words calm and soft much like the others, but there is an understanding there that was lacking in the others. The father listens carefully to what she says, their language was hard for him to comprehend at times, but he would try. He would try for this mare, who also mourns. "Kupia dead," he manages out of his mouth, referring to the fallen lover squewered above. "No longer want live. Child lives. Not I."
A soft, broken coo falls out of his lips at the company around him. It was nice to have a friend to talk to, yet she was the only one who seemed less than interested with his child. "You watch child, moon lady?"
Congratulations, Rishima! The griffon has chosen you to take the egg. You have two weeks to complete your hunting!
Like flashes of light before the griffon, their bodies slither before him. Broken, anguished, the male does not care to see the living as he once may have. Curiosity is promptly clamped shut in the wake of his partner's death, and he is none too interested in opening it for a bunch of nosey equines. Another sorrowful screech answers Brooke, whose eyes are targeted only on his child, the only existing reminants of his former love besides that of a mangled corpse. Even as her speckled nose reaches for the shell of the egg, the father protectively clasps onto it, pulling it closer to his side, eyes aggressively watching her now.
The next, a mere child, wonders up, her bright eyes full of life and her body a reflection of the sky above, something he would have found lovely a day earlier. While the living are still cloaked in shadow for the griffon, he is quite envious of her natural joy. Oh, to be a youth without responsibility again. There is a glimmer of understanding in her eyes of his grief, though. Perhaps she has felt the sting of loss before or has watched it take over others. He thinks about this quietly as he watches her, even as she apologizes to him, as if she knew what he had lost. She asks if her aid is needed, and sternly, the griffon shakes his feathered head, though his eyes are not so angered as they had been for Brooke.
The last mare truly is a shadow. She is cloaked in the finest garb of black, yet the silver threads of her hair tell him she might once have been touched by the moon. The griffon tilts his head as she speaks, her words calm and soft much like the others, but there is an understanding there that was lacking in the others. The father listens carefully to what she says, their language was hard for him to comprehend at times, but he would try. He would try for this mare, who also mourns. "Kupia dead," he manages out of his mouth, referring to the fallen lover squewered above. "No longer want live. Child lives. Not I."
A soft, broken coo falls out of his lips at the company around him. It was nice to have a friend to talk to, yet she was the only one who seemed less than interested with his child. "You watch child, moon lady?"
Congratulations, Rishima! The griffon has chosen you to take the egg. You have two weeks to complete your hunting!
