05-08-2018, 06:38 AM
we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight
He smiles warmly. The gesture is gentle and light; genuine as it crosses the sharp features of his face, though there is the weight of the world that stir dimly in his irises, where the smile could not reach. The crown has become heavy on his head, tipping to the side and falling into his eyes as he continues to struggle with keeping it upright. The threat of Sylva still looms in his mind, ever present even on the most beautiful of days. It claws at him with foreboding scrapes, reminding him of his weaknesses (his children, his close friends, Tangerine) and how easy it would be to take those from him. The feeling is ominous and dismal, a flickering of darkness within the bright and burning light of Tephra and his own heart. He will do his best to keep them safe, to protect them, but even he knows that his best may not be enough.Warrick has not solved anything for Amorette today. He can easily find the sorrow still lingering in her gentle eyes, even though a woeful smile finds the darkness of her mouth. She is trying (for him, for Tephra) to remain upright in her turmoil, and Warrick can ask nothing else of her. He is doing the same as her. A stargazer, she murmurs to him, her breath and face still hot with emotion and tears. He glances up once again, the heaviness of his thick forelock falling into the deep ocean of his eyes, once more looking into the clear sky that the winter wind has scrubbed clean, a tender expression on his face. “I’m sure I always will be,” he muses back. He does not understand her next words, not in the way she means them, and he encouragingly noses her. The Overseer says nothing, because it is clear that Amorette knows she has him. Warrick is unaware that he is not the person she hopes would be comforting her, and that she longs for more than just a friendship with another.
They are walking towards the volcano, its mountain groaning in the distance with plumes of smoke and ash rising from its top. The blackened shoreline stretches out before them, the spray of the sea dusting against their coats. The winter brings a drier season, and though the heat and temperature are unchanging, there is less humidity in the air that breathes around them. The feeling is enjoyable, especially as the wind gently filters through the thickness of his navy wings, separating the feathers.
He is silent for a time, his face becoming serious as he stares forward thoughtfully, a shuddering exhale leaving his cobalt lips. “I had hoped that Sylva would not be the first to strike.” A hope that was unrealistic? “Modicum has stolen Kwartz from Tephra. He is not a Tephran-born, but those who have just pledged their allegiance to us have lost a child.” He pauses, wondering how it has happened so quickly that he has failed his newcomers. “Retaliating means war; but I cannot sit by and do nothing.” Another sigh, disgruntled and low in his throat. “I do not know if Sylva has targeted any other realms. If so, I am leaning towards the possibility of retrieving our stolen ones together.”
Warrick
@[Amorette]