10-20-2021, 09:53 PM
R I P T I D E
The mountain, she says, but that does nothing to assuage the torrent of emotions that storm his chest.
He knows Beqanna has strange magic, that her story of the mountain could very well be true and perhaps that is how she first lost track of their daughter. But it did not explain—in his opinion—why she had never looked for her after the mountain. He does not comment on this outloud, but he is certain his anger is palpable. Despite the way he is careful to keep himself composed there is no mistaking the way the already sharp angles of his face seem to be harder, his snake-eyes narrowed with his irritation.
But he notices the way her face (he hates how he still notices how pretty she is, even when he is simmering with a hardly contained rage) is angled away from him, as if she is avoiding meeting his judgmental gaze, and it causes something to shift inside of him, something to dampen the simmering emotions he wrestles with. It is as if she can sense the fury that heats beneath his frost-covered scales, and that is the only thing keeping him tempered, because if his point had hit its mark there is no reason to push it even further.
“Of course I want to find her,” this is said with a note of exasperation, punctuated by a low hiss and a sharp rattle of his tail. But he straightens, setting his jaw and again wiping the irritation from his face. He watches her for a long moment, trying to decipher if she actually feels remorse, or if it is merely an act because she had never anticipated running into him again. Eventually, he decides it does not matter. If she is willing to help, then he will let her.
“Do you remember where you last saw her?” he is calmer now, his mind switching gears from being angry to simply wanting to find her. “And what does she look like?” He tries to ignore the way his chest twinges in regret; that he does not know what his own daughter looks like, that he had not been there for her in her first days. He would make it up to her—he just has to find her first.
He knows Beqanna has strange magic, that her story of the mountain could very well be true and perhaps that is how she first lost track of their daughter. But it did not explain—in his opinion—why she had never looked for her after the mountain. He does not comment on this outloud, but he is certain his anger is palpable. Despite the way he is careful to keep himself composed there is no mistaking the way the already sharp angles of his face seem to be harder, his snake-eyes narrowed with his irritation.
But he notices the way her face (he hates how he still notices how pretty she is, even when he is simmering with a hardly contained rage) is angled away from him, as if she is avoiding meeting his judgmental gaze, and it causes something to shift inside of him, something to dampen the simmering emotions he wrestles with. It is as if she can sense the fury that heats beneath his frost-covered scales, and that is the only thing keeping him tempered, because if his point had hit its mark there is no reason to push it even further.
“Of course I want to find her,” this is said with a note of exasperation, punctuated by a low hiss and a sharp rattle of his tail. But he straightens, setting his jaw and again wiping the irritation from his face. He watches her for a long moment, trying to decipher if she actually feels remorse, or if it is merely an act because she had never anticipated running into him again. Eventually, he decides it does not matter. If she is willing to help, then he will let her.
“Do you remember where you last saw her?” he is calmer now, his mind switching gears from being angry to simply wanting to find her. “And what does she look like?” He tries to ignore the way his chest twinges in regret; that he does not know what his own daughter looks like, that he had not been there for her in her first days. He would make it up to her—he just has to find her first.
— i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door —
@galadriel