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06-27-2017, 12:57 PM
Art by Neverr ♥
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
He wasn't sure she even knew he was there.
Or that she even wanted him there; her golden gaze turned out towards the endless sea, and Mauja found himself studying her. The plane of her nose—straight, ridged in a most unfamiliar way. The draconic broadness of her shoulders, but the elegant body of her mother. The way the golden scales nestled in the pale fur, somehow both perfect and absurd, like something that shouldn't be yet was, right there, in front of his face.
It wasn't that he found it disgusting, as he once might've. It wasn't frightening either, even though she was so very obviously part dragon.
It was just unusual. Something he had never ever seen up close before. Something he found he could stare at for a long, long time, and be neither wiser nor sated.
He wondered if he ever would've stood this close to her, had she not been sad and adrift, a sparrow drifting in a storm and too confused to fight for home. Maybe she didn't even know what home was anymore, with the tether undone—he could feel that she was missing, in his bones.
Maybe it was because he'd been here so long, or she had done something to his soul.
After what seemed like an eternity, she answered. He couldn't even call it clipped, because it seemed to lack even that; it just floated between them, a thought that somehow made it out of her skull and came to life and no one really knew how or why.
But there it was and someone else was coming and the dragonmare found another thought flitting off her tongue—"the world is ending…" and he found himself frowning.
He wanted to say no, it's merely changing. He wanted to rest his broad head against hers, or maybe over the folds of her wings, to see if she was warm as a furnace—to give her comfort, for the sole reason that she was so lost.
But with someone there, he dared not touch her, and he had no words to offer. No real time to speak, as Yael—her name was Yael, right? He was sure somebody had told him a Yael had helped drag him from the murky sea—let her strangely accented words fall. It took him a moment to parse, and by then, her attention was on him. He ran the words through his mind, then inclined his head with a nod. Yes, he was up and about, because he had no reason to lie around. It wouldn't help anything and he had nothing to risk, either.
"A long time ago," he said quietly, "all the gods abandoned Helovia, and left it in utter darkness. No sun, no moon. They took even magic with them, and jumped into a black storm." He blinked, and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. He still remembered that day, or whatever it had been, on the Thistle Meadow. He still remembered Ophelia seeking him, for comfort and answers, neither which he could give.
He didn't even know what he wanted to say, if it was some comfort he had wanted them to find—that they had fought once, and prevailed. That the world might not end, merely change. That the Moon would return, and take even more from him.
His tongue didn't know how to form the words, and neither did his heart.
Or that she even wanted him there; her golden gaze turned out towards the endless sea, and Mauja found himself studying her. The plane of her nose—straight, ridged in a most unfamiliar way. The draconic broadness of her shoulders, but the elegant body of her mother. The way the golden scales nestled in the pale fur, somehow both perfect and absurd, like something that shouldn't be yet was, right there, in front of his face.
It wasn't that he found it disgusting, as he once might've. It wasn't frightening either, even though she was so very obviously part dragon.
It was just unusual. Something he had never ever seen up close before. Something he found he could stare at for a long, long time, and be neither wiser nor sated.
He wondered if he ever would've stood this close to her, had she not been sad and adrift, a sparrow drifting in a storm and too confused to fight for home. Maybe she didn't even know what home was anymore, with the tether undone—he could feel that she was missing, in his bones.
Maybe it was because he'd been here so long, or she had done something to his soul.
After what seemed like an eternity, she answered. He couldn't even call it clipped, because it seemed to lack even that; it just floated between them, a thought that somehow made it out of her skull and came to life and no one really knew how or why.
But there it was and someone else was coming and the dragonmare found another thought flitting off her tongue—"the world is ending…" and he found himself frowning.
He wanted to say no, it's merely changing. He wanted to rest his broad head against hers, or maybe over the folds of her wings, to see if she was warm as a furnace—to give her comfort, for the sole reason that she was so lost.
But with someone there, he dared not touch her, and he had no words to offer. No real time to speak, as Yael—her name was Yael, right? He was sure somebody had told him a Yael had helped drag him from the murky sea—let her strangely accented words fall. It took him a moment to parse, and by then, her attention was on him. He ran the words through his mind, then inclined his head with a nod. Yes, he was up and about, because he had no reason to lie around. It wouldn't help anything and he had nothing to risk, either.
"A long time ago," he said quietly, "all the gods abandoned Helovia, and left it in utter darkness. No sun, no moon. They took even magic with them, and jumped into a black storm." He blinked, and shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. He still remembered that day, or whatever it had been, on the Thistle Meadow. He still remembered Ophelia seeking him, for comfort and answers, neither which he could give.
He didn't even know what he wanted to say, if it was some comfort he had wanted them to find—that they had fought once, and prevailed. That the world might not end, merely change. That the Moon would return, and take even more from him.
His tongue didn't know how to form the words, and neither did his heart.
