YADIGAR
there’s a hole in my chest but it’s mine, baby, it’s all i got.
He enjoys the way his sister curls to him, providing comfort where normally he finds very little. Being in the Cove or in Pangea makes him uneasy these days and he tries to be home as little as possible. But it’s easier to be here with her close by. Tarte’s presence eases the tension a little more despite his shame of being recently disfigured.
He has seen a few other children in the Cove but he does not approach them. Gospel makes him nervous and he fears approaching her young may inspire her wrath the way Ghaul snaps his teeth at anyone who gets too close to the nest. But he doesn’t mention them to Cirilla or to Asphyxea. He doesn’t want them risking their safety for the chance at making new friends. He is drawn from this thought when Tarte touches her muzzle to his, his small ears perking up in surprise as his cheeks grow hot. Yadigar is unused to any sort of affection beyond that provided by Ciri or their mother.
“She was going to just give you away?” he asks with his brows furrowed as he turns his head to face her, forgetting his gruesome wounds. Would he rather be with his family, the good and the bad, or be given to a complete stranger? Either option sounds dreadful to him. “I wonder if you’ll be able to stay.”
His tone fluctuates between hopeful and nervous. He does not know how kind their people would be to a stranger but he wouldn’t dream of letting her be whisked away to the north – not when his father speaks of destroying that region daily. But then Tarte is explaining their thoughts revolving their father and he snorts in surprise at her words. The idea of discussing Ghaul’s love turns his stomach and he takes a step back.
“I don’t think he loves Cirilla more. I know he does,” he states flatly, his ears suddenly pinned against his head. “He told Asphyxea he was proud of her for ripping my eye out. Then he held me down and made sure I would never get it back.”
His milky eye brims with tears but he will not allow himself to cry again. He mourned that beautiful golden eye long enough.
“Father nearly broke my wing when I tried to refuse his orders. And what does he order Cirilla to do? Absolutely nothing. She could never do wrong, to him,” he spits, extending that wing to display the angry teeth marks at its base. It still hurts to move but he wants them to see what a father’s love has earned him. “And if you breathe a word of this to him, he’ll kill me. Not even Mother will be able to stop him.”
He clenches his jaw and one tear rolls down his starry cheek, but he permits himself no further sign of weakness.
He has seen a few other children in the Cove but he does not approach them. Gospel makes him nervous and he fears approaching her young may inspire her wrath the way Ghaul snaps his teeth at anyone who gets too close to the nest. But he doesn’t mention them to Cirilla or to Asphyxea. He doesn’t want them risking their safety for the chance at making new friends. He is drawn from this thought when Tarte touches her muzzle to his, his small ears perking up in surprise as his cheeks grow hot. Yadigar is unused to any sort of affection beyond that provided by Ciri or their mother.
“She was going to just give you away?” he asks with his brows furrowed as he turns his head to face her, forgetting his gruesome wounds. Would he rather be with his family, the good and the bad, or be given to a complete stranger? Either option sounds dreadful to him. “I wonder if you’ll be able to stay.”
His tone fluctuates between hopeful and nervous. He does not know how kind their people would be to a stranger but he wouldn’t dream of letting her be whisked away to the north – not when his father speaks of destroying that region daily. But then Tarte is explaining their thoughts revolving their father and he snorts in surprise at her words. The idea of discussing Ghaul’s love turns his stomach and he takes a step back.
“I don’t think he loves Cirilla more. I know he does,” he states flatly, his ears suddenly pinned against his head. “He told Asphyxea he was proud of her for ripping my eye out. Then he held me down and made sure I would never get it back.”
His milky eye brims with tears but he will not allow himself to cry again. He mourned that beautiful golden eye long enough.
“Father nearly broke my wing when I tried to refuse his orders. And what does he order Cirilla to do? Absolutely nothing. She could never do wrong, to him,” he spits, extending that wing to display the angry teeth marks at its base. It still hurts to move but he wants them to see what a father’s love has earned him. “And if you breathe a word of this to him, he’ll kill me. Not even Mother will be able to stop him.”
He clenches his jaw and one tear rolls down his starry cheek, but he permits himself no further sign of weakness.