I could feel a rugged tension pulling at me by the air around. It was subtle as the swaying of grass but the way our eyes moved in this night caused a darting discomfort that piled embarrassment to settle in my stomach. He seemed to display an eerie cockiness that spoke hidden words, however it wasn’t wise to accuse. His spotted grace stayed rooted in the night and he seemed capable of equally dividing his focus on his thigh’s stab wound and my own characteristics. I found it common in a warrior to execute their pain through the use of brutish, feral malehood, in this case it seemed through the use of words that blabbered unpleasantly in my ears. Even Kri had possessed such a talent… I’ll never completely understand the gesture; it definitely isn’t my way of showing pain.
His state of filth was a question of its own, as well. I wasn’t sure of what kind of answers I’d be getting to my obvious queries relating to such small talk. I knew a leader who would ask questions about one’s appearance and he, unfortunately earned a few stabs of his own from my belt. I assume that speaking in his tongue would perhaps give the spotted brute a reminder of something he knew, perhaps an absolutist sort of stance would work here. My tail swished in thought, pale ends stroking the twilight grass.
Dreven’s answers seemed so suddenly protective. I wouldn’t have thought that a lowly outcast could have a vital opinion in the presence of a chancellor. It calmed me as much as it heated me. I felt a coolness (the wind, perhaps) brush between my wings and over my spine that my name and rank seemed to fly beside him. It was easy to speak in my voice. Despite the sinking of my pressure, I was still unsure of the mysterious quality in his language. His own aura seemed devilish. One tawny ear relaxed to his remarks.
“Let's just say I had a run-in with someone who has a grudge against me.”
That seemed his closest yet to formality. I shrugged gently with my wings, mindful of sleeping Sumä in my shoulder pouch. “Well, Dreven, you poor creature,” I said, returning his ruggedness. “It should be awful that you’re injured. Once that heals, it will be an astonishing addition to your collection.” With a nod of my head, I slid my eyes on his other scars, seeing into the night enough to catch a glimpse of a few around that were lit by the moon. I’d need to be back in the Throat’s grounds by early morning, and by the looks of it the night was drifting away from us.
Sumati the Sinbird
there's no thunder to warn you that I'll bring you to your knees |
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[P] I died a long time ago, in that worn out war
