01-29-2020, 06:53 PM
risk
He moves through the forest as an elk, ink black with that same copper marbling through his fur. His antlers likewise glimmer metallic in the full moon as his long, slow strides weave between ancient trees and over gnarled roots. This form is similar enough to his that it’s easy to maintain. It’s also different enough that he feels comforted to be out of his own skin for a while. The spring nights are chilly and his breath forms thin puffs of white before his lips when he crosses into the meadow. He likes how he towers over the tall grasses here even after their sudden spring growth.
Lately, Hyaline has been more and more tempting to return to even if he doesn’t recognize anyone there. Would his reflection in that lake please him or would it revolt him to see what has become of his face? Risk is sure there is an ugly scar across his throat but he hasn’t gathered the nerve to see. Even now, the skin is slick and warped where those teeth found his pulse, hidden beneath shaggy fur. He lifts his head and it tilts at the sight of her. There’s a fury pulsing through her and yet he draws closer anyway.
Would she recognize him? She’s a clever hunter, he remembers. Of course she will.
And if not, what’s another scar or three?
But what to say? He pauses and realizes there are no words gathering at the tip of his tongue as they normally do. Risk swallows hard and bridges the space between them at last, lowering his large head to hers curiously. The changeling does not let his lips meet her coat but he searches her scent for some answer. What he expected, he does not know, but it provides him with no clue as to what she’s been up to.
“Sochi,” he begins, still so unsure of himself. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Risk wants to laugh at himself for saying things so stupid. Kelynen used to tease him for the way he stumbled through conversations and often spoke too loud. He almost craves that sort of picking and prodding these days.
“Or we can just walk for a while. I don’t have any more dying on the agenda, so I’m free.”
Lately, Hyaline has been more and more tempting to return to even if he doesn’t recognize anyone there. Would his reflection in that lake please him or would it revolt him to see what has become of his face? Risk is sure there is an ugly scar across his throat but he hasn’t gathered the nerve to see. Even now, the skin is slick and warped where those teeth found his pulse, hidden beneath shaggy fur. He lifts his head and it tilts at the sight of her. There’s a fury pulsing through her and yet he draws closer anyway.
Would she recognize him? She’s a clever hunter, he remembers. Of course she will.
And if not, what’s another scar or three?
But what to say? He pauses and realizes there are no words gathering at the tip of his tongue as they normally do. Risk swallows hard and bridges the space between them at last, lowering his large head to hers curiously. The changeling does not let his lips meet her coat but he searches her scent for some answer. What he expected, he does not know, but it provides him with no clue as to what she’s been up to.
“Sochi,” he begins, still so unsure of himself. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Risk wants to laugh at himself for saying things so stupid. Kelynen used to tease him for the way he stumbled through conversations and often spoke too loud. He almost craves that sort of picking and prodding these days.
“Or we can just walk for a while. I don’t have any more dying on the agenda, so I’m free.”