• Logout
  • 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


    [private]  your heart, it's like a drum; Firen
    #3

    i'm told that to be human i must stand still
    you can try your hardest, but i never will

    The echo of her call fades into the distant sky, but still she waits. For an answer, or more. It’s foolish to think there might be one after all this time. She had called before, and always it had ended the same. She had waited until pink and orange and purple tinged the horizon. Until light had overtake the nostalgia of night. And then she had continued on where she had left off, her childish whimsy forgotten as all the rest had been.

    This night, on the surface, is no different from those night’s past.

    And yet, it is. Because tonight, her call is answered. The faint sounds of paws against damp, heavy earth and the brush of leaves against fur are the answer she had been waiting for. The faint glow of an eternal flame herald his arrival, drawing her eye to where he appears. Answering her as though they had parted only yesterday. The soft whuff that rises from her throat and single thump of her tail against the ground are the only signs of her excitement. But it is enough.

    The moment he stops, she rises to greet him. Without thought to the many ways in which they both might have changed during their time apart, she presses her nose against his whiskers with an ancient familiarity. But the changes are too great for even her to ignore for long.

    With a sharp exhale, she withdraws, pale gaze meeting his as she matches his stare with equal intensity. His smell is wrong, and she is not certain she cares for it. The scars that delve, gnarled and twisted, into his chest tell stories of the many things she had missed. For a moment, she could almost feel the guilt well from deep within, where she had buried her feeling self. Almost.

    Tell me. The thought rises, demanding and instinctive. Speaking in a way long forgotten, yet as familiar to her as breath. Perhaps she cannot reciprocate, but the knowledge that he can hear her wells from deep within.

    ferran

    Reply


    Messages In This Thread
    your heart, it's like a drum; Firen - by Ferran - 04-21-2020, 03:20 PM
    RE: your heart, it's like a drum; Firen - by Ferran - 04-29-2020, 04:00 PM



    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)