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the fine line between love and hate
His close watch of the fleet-footed cheetah caught the shiver of her spotted skin in the cool waters as he drew away. Though his eyes did not linger long on her body—instead they swept to her face as she dredged up memories he had buried beneath the living, breathing son he now had in Helovia.
His lips pressed together, tighter and tighter as the quiet words continued to flow, his own eyes staring hard at hers even as they closed in remembrance of that fated, awful day. He had lived it enough times to know the scenes that flashed behind her closed lids, and so his own eyes remained glassy and open, staring hard as shespoke confessed.
“I was there when you found your family.” He was still, a elephantine monolith standing against the brunt of her words. His body was rigid, his mind less so; it was a warring zone of upheaval as she told him she knew. She had seen those dark, desolate moments of agony. She had watched him hold the burnt bodies, witnessed him covering their carcasses with dirt.
And he gained her eyes then—though his own gaze was undulating between the past and present, shifting from glazed to sharpened as his mind clawed to remain in the here and now. It did not want to return to those dark memories; Myrrine, with her magic, had given him the day of Faxr’s birth to remember them by. And that was the image to which his mind desperately clung.
“Enough,” his deep rumble was hoarse and quiet, but firm. His head bowed slightly, weighted beneath the tumult in his mind; a mind that begged for Ada’s silence. But still, she pressed on, saying things he already knew: she had trusted him, stupidly or wisely, to spare her life and turn on his leaders. He felt her watchful eyes on his face and body, but his own were now downcast to the rippling waters around them.
“Ada,” he began, his muzzle dropping closer to the water’s rippling surface, eyes watching their distorted reflections of gold and silver, “I have lived my life in my past. That day has haunted and shaped everything I’ve done. And I am tired—” his hoarse voice broke once, silence descending for a few moments, “—I am tired of the things it has led me to do; tired of fearing the man it has made me become. I came to Helovia to build a future, but this vengeance… after feeding it for so long on the Plains, it is a beast, a demon, that does not easily die.”
His great skull rose, eyes opening and burning into the cheetah’s golden ones, “Build a future here, Ada. Build a home, a family,” his words grew fervent, urging, “Do not chase the injustices here,” he alluded to her disappearance on the way from the Threshold, “Let our ghosts remain on the plains; stay and build the Edge with me.” His mind ached as much as his body, now—though he leaned closer to his cat as he spoke.
His lips pressed together, tighter and tighter as the quiet words continued to flow, his own eyes staring hard at hers even as they closed in remembrance of that fated, awful day. He had lived it enough times to know the scenes that flashed behind her closed lids, and so his own eyes remained glassy and open, staring hard as she
“I was there when you found your family.” He was still, a elephantine monolith standing against the brunt of her words. His body was rigid, his mind less so; it was a warring zone of upheaval as she told him she knew. She had seen those dark, desolate moments of agony. She had watched him hold the burnt bodies, witnessed him covering their carcasses with dirt.
And he gained her eyes then—though his own gaze was undulating between the past and present, shifting from glazed to sharpened as his mind clawed to remain in the here and now. It did not want to return to those dark memories; Myrrine, with her magic, had given him the day of Faxr’s birth to remember them by. And that was the image to which his mind desperately clung.
“Enough,” his deep rumble was hoarse and quiet, but firm. His head bowed slightly, weighted beneath the tumult in his mind; a mind that begged for Ada’s silence. But still, she pressed on, saying things he already knew: she had trusted him, stupidly or wisely, to spare her life and turn on his leaders. He felt her watchful eyes on his face and body, but his own were now downcast to the rippling waters around them.
“Ada,” he began, his muzzle dropping closer to the water’s rippling surface, eyes watching their distorted reflections of gold and silver, “I have lived my life in my past. That day has haunted and shaped everything I’ve done. And I am tired—” his hoarse voice broke once, silence descending for a few moments, “—I am tired of the things it has led me to do; tired of fearing the man it has made me become. I came to Helovia to build a future, but this vengeance… after feeding it for so long on the Plains, it is a beast, a demon, that does not easily die.”
His great skull rose, eyes opening and burning into the cheetah’s golden ones, “Build a future here, Ada. Build a home, a family,” his words grew fervent, urging, “Do not chase the injustices here,” he alluded to her disappearance on the way from the Threshold, “Let our ghosts remain on the plains; stay and build the Edge with me.” His mind ached as much as his body, now—though he leaned closer to his cat as he spoke.
@Adaeze
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