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11-02-2015, 08:20 PM
Nature's great masterpiece : an elephant ; the only harmless great thing.
A cold, but strangely calm, alarm began to squeeze his chest as she started to walk away from him. Though she tuned back towards him, it did not release. His heart only beat harder, painfully, against its grip. It was all he heard, the beating of that cursed organ, rushing blood through his ears, in the long silence that stretched between them. It was excruciating to wait her answer in silence, to see the pain glimmer from beneath a mask of emotionless while she waited and formed her answer.
His ears, once perked towards her, tilted backwards in his inner distress. Dismay creases the corners of his deep, darkened blue eyes that probe her lovely lighter ones. The stare out from the surrounding black skin, flecks of light blue straining to be seen. Just as he strains to be nearer to her— wanting physical closeness since emotional intimacy was impossible in the current moment.
Then she spoke, a weak joke accompanied with a meek, empty smile. But he still gripped onto it, because it meant she was staying there, with him, still. “I’m a large target. Easy to hit. Or fall on,” his answering humor and smile were as small and hollow as hers. “I should ask why you threw yourself so recklessly into this battle?” he mustered more meaning in these words, “To see you hit like that… and so bruised,” the reprimand gentle, but firm, as he trailed back into ominous silence. He begins to reach out with his muzzle to soothingly caress her bruised face, but stops himself.
He feels the awning, gaping chasm between them. It stretched with each tick of the silence, rocks crumbling into a void of unknown. He knew how it felt to lose her— he had lost her to the grip of black lung. She had wanted nothing to do with him, and that was a feeling he would do anything to avoid again. The need pulled the words, unfiltered, from his thick lips, “It meant nothing with Nyx. Nothing like what we have, Rex” his hoarse words tumble freely, quickly. “You chose the Basin— you called me a friend,” the word is leaves an ugly taste in his mouth.
But is friend all he can hope for, now?
No. He takes another step towards her, this one firm and meaningful. “Rexanna, please,” his rough voice issues the plea. For what isn't sure. Forgiveness? Understanding? For her to breach this cold distance she’d put between them? (That he’d put between them.)
His eyes leave hers, gaze downcast as his ears fall further flush with his skull.
His ears, once perked towards her, tilted backwards in his inner distress. Dismay creases the corners of his deep, darkened blue eyes that probe her lovely lighter ones. The stare out from the surrounding black skin, flecks of light blue straining to be seen. Just as he strains to be nearer to her— wanting physical closeness since emotional intimacy was impossible in the current moment.
Then she spoke, a weak joke accompanied with a meek, empty smile. But he still gripped onto it, because it meant she was staying there, with him, still. “I’m a large target. Easy to hit. Or fall on,” his answering humor and smile were as small and hollow as hers. “I should ask why you threw yourself so recklessly into this battle?” he mustered more meaning in these words, “To see you hit like that… and so bruised,” the reprimand gentle, but firm, as he trailed back into ominous silence. He begins to reach out with his muzzle to soothingly caress her bruised face, but stops himself.
He feels the awning, gaping chasm between them. It stretched with each tick of the silence, rocks crumbling into a void of unknown. He knew how it felt to lose her— he had lost her to the grip of black lung. She had wanted nothing to do with him, and that was a feeling he would do anything to avoid again. The need pulled the words, unfiltered, from his thick lips, “It meant nothing with Nyx. Nothing like what we have, Rex” his hoarse words tumble freely, quickly. “You chose the Basin— you called me a friend,” the word is leaves an ugly taste in his mouth.
But is friend all he can hope for, now?
No. He takes another step towards her, this one firm and meaningful. “Rexanna, please,” his rough voice issues the plea. For what isn't sure. Forgiveness? Understanding? For her to breach this cold distance she’d put between them? (That he’d put between them.)
His eyes leave hers, gaze downcast as his ears fall further flush with his skull.
Tembovu
@Rexanna
Please tag Tembovu.
