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04-30-2016, 08:18 AM
Unblinking eyes watch the soft foal lips form the words of her language; but silently, as Kahelo had yet to actually speak. Perhaps he was mute? That was unfortunate, for he seemed so curious. Overlarge yes follow his gaze from her fins to the fire, and she silent for a moment. Though some the cultures Akvo conquered that lived both above and below the waves had a name for the flames in the common tongue— fire— the ancient Akvian tongue did not have a word for such conflagrations. Blazes did not burn beneath the ocean. Warm, underwater vents provided heat— and, to Aquila, they were preferable to the hungry inferno that roared from the pit. The warm jets of water did not need to be fed, did not desiccate the skin, did not burn away life around it. No, the warm vents of the sea floor brought up nutrients— tubons stretching their long bodies in the warm rush of water.
“Termika,” so Aquila gives him the name for her warm, underwater thermals, glassy stare reflecting the flames. Her pebbled hide leaps at the soft brush of muzzle-velvet as Kahelo’s movement brings his maw against her chest. She is not used to soft touches; her world is filled (was filled) with training, rebukes, and orders. Ridged nostrils flare as she takes a step back, away from the child, uncomfortable with things so strange to her.
To cover her discomfort, she speaks again, more of her home— though her throaty voice replaces the more gentle voice of earlier, “We do not have fire beneath the sea,” bladed horn slices towards the pit, “We have termika. Hot water from the ocean floor,” she pauses, “They aren’t loud, like this pit.” Scaled ears tip back as she speaks, for they, indeed, were growing sore.
A webbed hoof begins to shift backwards, away from the heat and the noise, “Can you speak, Kahelo?”
tubons=tubeworms
termika=thermal
“Termika,” so Aquila gives him the name for her warm, underwater thermals, glassy stare reflecting the flames. Her pebbled hide leaps at the soft brush of muzzle-velvet as Kahelo’s movement brings his maw against her chest. She is not used to soft touches; her world is filled (was filled) with training, rebukes, and orders. Ridged nostrils flare as she takes a step back, away from the child, uncomfortable with things so strange to her.
To cover her discomfort, she speaks again, more of her home— though her throaty voice replaces the more gentle voice of earlier, “We do not have fire beneath the sea,” bladed horn slices towards the pit, “We have termika. Hot water from the ocean floor,” she pauses, “They aren’t loud, like this pit.” Scaled ears tip back as she speaks, for they, indeed, were growing sore.
A webbed hoof begins to shift backwards, away from the heat and the noise, “Can you speak, Kahelo?”
tubons=tubeworms
termika=thermal
Aquila
Please tag Aquila in all posts.
