12-29-2015, 12:33 PM
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
He is a failure. So much of his life has consisted of one failure after another. He had blithely continued on through his life, oblivious to those he had left behind, happy to be simply content. But then everything had changed, his entire life had been turned upside down, the innumerate failures shoved in his face like a gauntlet. Only he hadn’t taken up that challenge, he had fled. Like a bird before a windstorm, he had simply run away and hidden.
And even his once famous affable determination cannot save him now.
The only thing he hasn’t left yet, hasn’t failed, is the Deserts. His chosen home. Even in the face of his torments and fears, he had forced himself to return. Forced himself to face the demons he knew were waiting there, only to find the demons nonexistent. This had surprised him. Heartened him, even as it worried him.
What if everything he thought he knew had been a lie?
But he refuses to think of that now. He simply cannot. Not when he is finally, slowly, picking up the pieces of his once happy life. He still isn’t sure how he will put them back together. Still isn’t even sure he can, or that he wants to try.
The forest has become a refuge, a sanctuary for him to brood and wallow in his misery. The shadows adore him, welcoming him like an old lover might. He has stopped fighting them, stopped trying to resist their magnetic pull. He had finally realized just how futile the fight had been. Besides, it seems they are the only solace left to him now.
He doesn’t see her at first, isn’t even paying attention. His brown eyes are unfocused, head dropping low, the ever present shadows still and quiet for the first time in ages. He doesn’t register her approach until his name slips into the air on a quiet exclamation.
He blinks, focuses. Chocolate eyes fix upon her familiar dark form, a sight for sore eyes. One of the few he has not yet managed to fail so spectacularly.
Ilka.
He breathes her name in disbelief, unnameable emotion filling that single syllable. For a moment, he is afraid she might be a phantom, whisked away by the next breeze. But then she takes another step forward, soft words laced with heartache and sorrow. He could no more resist her than he could resist a typhoon. He closes the distance between them.
She is real and solid, her presence soothing an ache in his chest he hadn’t known was there. He presses against her, crushing her in a desperate embrace. His muzzle falls softly against her dark skin, eyes squeezing shut to hold back tears that suddenly wish to fall.
I know.
His words are quiet, fractured. He does know, perhaps more than anyone else.
It’s so much worse.
And even his once famous affable determination cannot save him now.
The only thing he hasn’t left yet, hasn’t failed, is the Deserts. His chosen home. Even in the face of his torments and fears, he had forced himself to return. Forced himself to face the demons he knew were waiting there, only to find the demons nonexistent. This had surprised him. Heartened him, even as it worried him.
What if everything he thought he knew had been a lie?
But he refuses to think of that now. He simply cannot. Not when he is finally, slowly, picking up the pieces of his once happy life. He still isn’t sure how he will put them back together. Still isn’t even sure he can, or that he wants to try.
The forest has become a refuge, a sanctuary for him to brood and wallow in his misery. The shadows adore him, welcoming him like an old lover might. He has stopped fighting them, stopped trying to resist their magnetic pull. He had finally realized just how futile the fight had been. Besides, it seems they are the only solace left to him now.
He doesn’t see her at first, isn’t even paying attention. His brown eyes are unfocused, head dropping low, the ever present shadows still and quiet for the first time in ages. He doesn’t register her approach until his name slips into the air on a quiet exclamation.
He blinks, focuses. Chocolate eyes fix upon her familiar dark form, a sight for sore eyes. One of the few he has not yet managed to fail so spectacularly.
Ilka.
He breathes her name in disbelief, unnameable emotion filling that single syllable. For a moment, he is afraid she might be a phantom, whisked away by the next breeze. But then she takes another step forward, soft words laced with heartache and sorrow. He could no more resist her than he could resist a typhoon. He closes the distance between them.
She is real and solid, her presence soothing an ache in his chest he hadn’t known was there. He presses against her, crushing her in a desperate embrace. His muzzle falls softly against her dark skin, eyes squeezing shut to hold back tears that suddenly wish to fall.
I know.
His words are quiet, fractured. He does know, perhaps more than anyone else.
It’s so much worse.
shahrizai
hestoni x scorch