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01-03-2016, 03:51 AM
Repeatedly, a phrase sobs from the dethroned’s mouth. “I know.” But the repetition of weeping words negates their meaning; long before the Frozen’s fearful words do. But thankfully the strength, bulk, and warmth of the Elephant silences broken babbles. And the giant is relieved to feel him lean and give, misery disarmed beneath the touch of hide on silken coat.
Grief is a strange beast. In it’s vicious sorrow, it pushes others away, feral flailing to conceal its wounds. And yet, often, beneath a caring caress, it stills. It tames— becomes almost manageable. The plains-borne stallion breathes out a long, quiet breath as he feels the wetness against his broad expanse of shoulder that is Mauja’s cheek. He is glad his friend reciprocates, rather than lashes out. For, though it is not his soul that is rent to pieces by anguish, seeing such raw despair reawakens memories and feelings he had long since laid to rest.
Ebony rimmed ears twitch at the whisper against his shoulder— so quiet and nearly missed. But it was said, it existed for a few fleeting moments before the roar of the ocean whisks it away. He remains quiet, wondering if the spotted could take a small portion of his own grief and survive to the other side of his words less lost, less afraid. The Elephant was not certain, but he knew not what else to say. And he so veritably wanted to give his friend some kind of lifeline…
“I, too, have lost, Mauja. I have buried the burned bodies of my love—my life— and my son— my future,” his rumble is thick, quiet, nearly hitching with the simple sentence he spoke, “So I understand afraid— the fear of feeling the world after they are gone.” But living in that fear wasn’t really living, though he did not voice this; the dead look in Mauja’s eyes, his stare down the cliffs, did not need to hear those words.
His head, which had unknowingly begun moving as his lips sought to stroke Mauja’s smooth back, pulls away as he steps back. He needs to see Mauja’s face and reaction to his words— would they be too much? Though he remains close to his friend, watching carefully as he continues quietly, “Grief is a strange beast. I can tell you I survived it, I can tell you how I did so. But it won’t make it easier and it may not even help you. But I am here, the Edge is here, your owls,” navy eyes glance toward the flighted raptors, “are here, however you need us. Anchors, reasons, crutches.” His quiet words fade, for now he is at a loss— there is only so much the Elephant knows to say. “Mauja…” the word is a low murmur, almost below the range of equine ears, and filled with compassion and ache.
Grief is a strange beast. In it’s vicious sorrow, it pushes others away, feral flailing to conceal its wounds. And yet, often, beneath a caring caress, it stills. It tames— becomes almost manageable. The plains-borne stallion breathes out a long, quiet breath as he feels the wetness against his broad expanse of shoulder that is Mauja’s cheek. He is glad his friend reciprocates, rather than lashes out. For, though it is not his soul that is rent to pieces by anguish, seeing such raw despair reawakens memories and feelings he had long since laid to rest.
Ebony rimmed ears twitch at the whisper against his shoulder— so quiet and nearly missed. But it was said, it existed for a few fleeting moments before the roar of the ocean whisks it away. He remains quiet, wondering if the spotted could take a small portion of his own grief and survive to the other side of his words less lost, less afraid. The Elephant was not certain, but he knew not what else to say. And he so veritably wanted to give his friend some kind of lifeline…
“I, too, have lost, Mauja. I have buried the burned bodies of my love—my life— and my son— my future,” his rumble is thick, quiet, nearly hitching with the simple sentence he spoke, “So I understand afraid— the fear of feeling the world after they are gone.” But living in that fear wasn’t really living, though he did not voice this; the dead look in Mauja’s eyes, his stare down the cliffs, did not need to hear those words.
His head, which had unknowingly begun moving as his lips sought to stroke Mauja’s smooth back, pulls away as he steps back. He needs to see Mauja’s face and reaction to his words— would they be too much? Though he remains close to his friend, watching carefully as he continues quietly, “Grief is a strange beast. I can tell you I survived it, I can tell you how I did so. But it won’t make it easier and it may not even help you. But I am here, the Edge is here, your owls,” navy eyes glance toward the flighted raptors, “are here, however you need us. Anchors, reasons, crutches.” His quiet words fade, for now he is at a loss— there is only so much the Elephant knows to say. “Mauja…” the word is a low murmur, almost below the range of equine ears, and filled with compassion and ache.
ooc| Temb's having a hard time, too. He was tempted to try to start leading Mau back to the Edge in this post, but I feel like there's still a little life left in this thread :]
Please tag Tembovu.
