"One Day, I Shall Live By the Code of Honor."
----------------------------------------
With every tear that fell from her mother’s chocolate eye, Laila’s heart and mind throbbed with excruciating pain. This must end, she chanted in her soul; the words were spoken deep down in her chest, a reverberant echo: This must end. This must end.
The ebony filly was beginning to lose track; what had started this mess? Why had Tor decided to leave? Why didn’t she say a word? Why was this fury ignited in Laila’s chest? And now, what compelled her alabaster mother to stand there and cry in earnest, her own spirit seemingly leaking past those lashes? Was there no mercy to be shared; was it all just crying and betrayal and the heartbreak of shattered trust? The arrival of the other Healer didn’t quite hearten the filly; the words spoken by the honest, well-meaning paint only served to twist the knife ever deeper into Laila’s own wounds; she could only imagine the pain her mother might be feeling.
*“But I will not leave again, little warrior.*
Her mother’s tears ran down that pale cheek, streaming onto Laila’s brow and trickling down the badger face, a silver stream of regret and the plea of redemption. Laila let her mother’s tears trickle down her face, feeling incredibly safe and hurt by her mother’s warm, gentle touch; her mind was screaming, no longer striving for clarity or strength. She was close to surrendering to her mother’s passion—the tears were very near her own eyes again. Words meant nothing to Laila now. There had been time for talk, and there had been talk enough—none of that had stopped her mother from leaving her. The only thing that could completely convince Laila that her mother was here for good was living a lifetime within her mother’s embrace. Until then, there would always be some fragile part of Laila’s being that clung to her family, terrified for their absence; she was strong only with her blood there to support her, keep her warm, help her stand tall. Luken. Destrier. Tor. Without them, Laila had no strength.
Without them, she was just a tiny filly terrified of the world.
Some inner part of Laila’s body screamed in panic as her mother’s muzzle left her brow, severing their touch—no. No, Laila needed her mother. She stumbled forward, willing herself to fall into the crook of her mother’s shoulder and neck; she wanted to bury herself in the thick column, basking in the scent and heat of that alabaster hide. It had been too long since she went without her mother’s embrace; she needed it now.
Thor spoke, but Laila paid no mind to the meaning of his words. She was sad to see him go, however; she tore herself from Tor’s side for just a second, watching the behemoth turn to leave the scene with obvious distaste. She hated seeing her Weyrleader so caught up with her mother’s mistakes; his bulk, his gentle eye, and his quiet smile in her direction reminded her so much of Destrier, and the filly suddenly began to pine for her father as well. Where was Papa? She needed him; his safety, his unbroken promise, his security and strength—she needed him just as much as she needed her mother’s love.
She needed them, for otherwise the filly would break apart.
[I dreamed I replied to this thread, and so I forgot all about it. I'm so sorry @.@]
|
|
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
