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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    he drank my past, like the finest of wines; raul
    #3
    Warlight

     

    The ocean wind twists between them, carrying his scent, pulling at her salt-dried mane and reminding her uncomfortably of the days when they rarely left space between themselves.

    There is moment where she watches him unobserved and she is reminded so much of their son. But when Raul's eyes find hers she sees he too has changed since the days when they were inseparable. They are wiser eyes, tired eyes, the eyes of a man instead of a boy. She doesn't lie to herself as she watches him take in the sight of her, she doesn't deny the feeling which begins to relax her coiled muscles and solid stance. But there is so much more than salt air that stands between them now.

    Come to settle some unfinished business, have you?

    The rumble of his voice more robust than she remembered and her heart churns unexpectedly below her ribs, a feeling she was still getting used too.

    "I missed you," she finally says, as if it will make up for the way she drove him off. The things she had to say to get him to leave. 

    She had regretted her decision, in the end, but she would never say those words out loud. 

    The leopard-skin mare doesn't allow the sentiment to breathe for long. Her world had been so, so dark then. She hadn't been able to see any other way; her stubborn independence had not allowed her to keep taking his help with no clear end in sight.

    She had decided she would live or die alone. But then she wasn't alone.

    She wonders of Raul even know that his son exists.
    She wonders if he knows of her death.
    She doesn't know where to start.

    "We have a lot to talk about," she says, her voice not betraying the heat in her belly.  But she breaks, stepping forward tilting her forehead until it falls to rest against his, her antlers stretching above them and catching the rising sun's light.

    "How... how much do you know?" Her voice barely rises above the waves, and she hopes that somehow he knows it all.

    — soul as sweet as blood red jam —



    Messages In This Thread
    RE: he drank my past, like the finest of wines; raul - by Warlight - 12-20-2019, 07:39 PM



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