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11-08-2015, 07:41 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
"This. Is. Not. Okay."
But it is, she's fine now, she's better, she'll be fine—
“There is as much- if not more- bravery in facing the wounded of battle than the enemy, itself. Good on you, fire mare,” but someone was screaming, "DON'T JUST ACT LIKE THIS OKAY! LIKE THIS ISN'T YOUR DAMN FAULT!" What wasn't okay? The slender fire mare folded on the ground? Was the shrieking mare worried about her, that she seemed so exhausted from having saved Irma? Mauja glanced down at her, the exhaustion of damn near losing his owl blanking out his gaze and fuddling his mind. She seemed okay, just tired, like all she needed was a good long nap in the sun with a steadfast friend or two keeping guard, so that nothing untoward would happen, so that she could rest easy, and he began to open his mouth to tell the blue-black mare that he was sure she'd be fine when—when—when—
"Don't you dare cry, and don't you shout, or refuse to see what it is you have done. You took her soul, and you shoved it down next to yours, and that awful connection is why this poor creature is on the ground now. YOUR selfishness, YOUR battlelust, YOUR wants DID THIS."
Like what the actual fuck?
“Do you think screeching will help?”
Tembovu then proceeded to ignore the mare in a sort of gentle fashion, trying to talk to Mauja, but Mauja couldn't listen. Didn't listen. Words were chasing themselves through his skull, fighting, desperately, to make sense of the situation. You took her soul— And his eyes kept flitting between the angry mare stomping away and the mare lying on the ground, he took her soul? —poor creature ... and only Mauja was dumb enough to refer to other horses as creatures from time to time, but as he went over what she'd said he realized that she wasn't talking about Tandavi.
She was talking about Irma, lying between his feet in the gentle warmth of healing sleep. She was talking about Irma, saying it was Mauja's fault—saying he had taken her soul—his selfishness, his battle lust, his wants. That it was all his fault.
He didn't know what to feel.
Part of him felt crushed. Well and thoroughly destroyed by her groundless accusations, because he couldn't deny the strain of logic that said if they had not been bonded, she would not have come with him, and if she hadn't come with him, she wouldn't have been blown from the sky when that fucking bear emerged. If they had not been bonded, he would not have loved her so fiercely, and would not have risked losing her, and—
If they had not been bonded, they would not have shared the deep, wild love they shared. If they had not been bonded, she would've lived in her time, and he in his, and his life would've been a lesser place.
But her life? What would it have been?
"This is your fated companion. But it was born before your time. For this reason, you had to come back here."
It never would've been anything different—somewhere, in the pattern of the stars or the currents of the world or fuck if he knew, some time-bending creature had decided that this was the way it would be, no matter what.
The other part of him—the one that wasn't folding in on itself in despair—was angry.
(Anger was easier.)
Who was she, to accuse him? Who was she, to talk about things she knew nothing about? "My selfishness?" he spat at her, taking a single step forward so the owl rested in the shadow of his bulk, and Diego dug his claws into his ass, seeking comfort in his flesh and blood. She's stupid, the owl murmured shakily in his mind. "My battle lust?" It was a pressure building up inside his skull, a rage of blue flames igniting behind his eyes—he was vibrating with it, with a fury so deep he wished he could shred her with his eyes alone. All of his fear, all of his relief, all of his bitter anger, found an outlet, a victim who, really, had nothing to do with it, but simply happened to be in his way.
"And what the fuck do you know about it? What the actual living fuck do you know of how we came to be here?" His voice was harsh and rough, scratched and, beneath the layers of rage, tired—because what did this idiot know?
She assumed. She assumed, and she judged, and Mauja hated her for it.
[ Sorry, I suck. @Ampere @Tembovu @Tandavi ]
But it is, she's fine now, she's better, she'll be fine—
“There is as much- if not more- bravery in facing the wounded of battle than the enemy, itself. Good on you, fire mare,” but someone was screaming, "DON'T JUST ACT LIKE THIS OKAY! LIKE THIS ISN'T YOUR DAMN FAULT!" What wasn't okay? The slender fire mare folded on the ground? Was the shrieking mare worried about her, that she seemed so exhausted from having saved Irma? Mauja glanced down at her, the exhaustion of damn near losing his owl blanking out his gaze and fuddling his mind. She seemed okay, just tired, like all she needed was a good long nap in the sun with a steadfast friend or two keeping guard, so that nothing untoward would happen, so that she could rest easy, and he began to open his mouth to tell the blue-black mare that he was sure she'd be fine when—when—when—
"Don't you dare cry, and don't you shout, or refuse to see what it is you have done. You took her soul, and you shoved it down next to yours, and that awful connection is why this poor creature is on the ground now. YOUR selfishness, YOUR battlelust, YOUR wants DID THIS."
Like what the actual fuck?
“Do you think screeching will help?”
Tembovu then proceeded to ignore the mare in a sort of gentle fashion, trying to talk to Mauja, but Mauja couldn't listen. Didn't listen. Words were chasing themselves through his skull, fighting, desperately, to make sense of the situation. You took her soul— And his eyes kept flitting between the angry mare stomping away and the mare lying on the ground, he took her soul? —poor creature ... and only Mauja was dumb enough to refer to other horses as creatures from time to time, but as he went over what she'd said he realized that she wasn't talking about Tandavi.
She was talking about Irma, lying between his feet in the gentle warmth of healing sleep. She was talking about Irma, saying it was Mauja's fault—saying he had taken her soul—his selfishness, his battle lust, his wants. That it was all his fault.
He didn't know what to feel.
Part of him felt crushed. Well and thoroughly destroyed by her groundless accusations, because he couldn't deny the strain of logic that said if they had not been bonded, she would not have come with him, and if she hadn't come with him, she wouldn't have been blown from the sky when that fucking bear emerged. If they had not been bonded, he would not have loved her so fiercely, and would not have risked losing her, and—
If they had not been bonded, they would not have shared the deep, wild love they shared. If they had not been bonded, she would've lived in her time, and he in his, and his life would've been a lesser place.
But her life? What would it have been?
"This is your fated companion. But it was born before your time. For this reason, you had to come back here."
It never would've been anything different—somewhere, in the pattern of the stars or the currents of the world or fuck if he knew, some time-bending creature had decided that this was the way it would be, no matter what.
The other part of him—the one that wasn't folding in on itself in despair—was angry.
(Anger was easier.)
Who was she, to accuse him? Who was she, to talk about things she knew nothing about? "My selfishness?" he spat at her, taking a single step forward so the owl rested in the shadow of his bulk, and Diego dug his claws into his ass, seeking comfort in his flesh and blood. She's stupid, the owl murmured shakily in his mind. "My battle lust?" It was a pressure building up inside his skull, a rage of blue flames igniting behind his eyes—he was vibrating with it, with a fury so deep he wished he could shred her with his eyes alone. All of his fear, all of his relief, all of his bitter anger, found an outlet, a victim who, really, had nothing to do with it, but simply happened to be in his way.
"And what the fuck do you know about it? What the actual living fuck do you know of how we came to be here?" His voice was harsh and rough, scratched and, beneath the layers of rage, tired—because what did this idiot know?
She assumed. She assumed, and she judged, and Mauja hated her for it.
[ Sorry, I suck. @Ampere @Tembovu @Tandavi ]
