02-27-2022, 02:53 AM
Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
Her life has been oddly quiet since returning, but there is no peace in this.
If anything it was more unsettling, and had caused her nerves to come alive with tension, anticipating when the tranquility would finally shatter.
When she hears that familiar voice whisper mom, she freezes. Her pulse spikes with fear and anxiety, her mind unfolding all the horrible scenarios for why Beyza would be calling for her. It doesn’t even occur to her that she has never actually called her anything other than Ryatah before, because she has been her daughter, always—even when Beyza didn’t know it. It was not something she had to learn to accept, not even with the fact that she did not actually birth her. She had felt that familiar maternal pull the moment she had seen her, brand new and trembling and being tended to by parents that were not her.
She follows the echo of the voice until she finds her, dripping and shivering, and by then she is breathless and nearly frantic. “Beyza,” her name comes as an aching whisper under her breath, her chest constricting at the sight of her. As soon as she reaches her side she pulls her damp body close, teleporting both of them out of the open and into the protection of a thick stand of trees. Even once they are walled behind the tall trunks and sheltered from the breeze by their full limbs she does not let go, holding her close, trying to radiate all the warmth she can from her own body to her daughter’s.
She smells of blood and saltwater, a mixture that brings forward her own strange memories that she has to force away, but her heartbeat flutters nervously for a moment. “What happened?” she asks her, scanning her for any noticeable injuries. Her pale coat is streaked with blood and though it does not look like it’s her own, this does nothing to abate her worry. “Are you hurt?”
If anything it was more unsettling, and had caused her nerves to come alive with tension, anticipating when the tranquility would finally shatter.
When she hears that familiar voice whisper mom, she freezes. Her pulse spikes with fear and anxiety, her mind unfolding all the horrible scenarios for why Beyza would be calling for her. It doesn’t even occur to her that she has never actually called her anything other than Ryatah before, because she has been her daughter, always—even when Beyza didn’t know it. It was not something she had to learn to accept, not even with the fact that she did not actually birth her. She had felt that familiar maternal pull the moment she had seen her, brand new and trembling and being tended to by parents that were not her.
She follows the echo of the voice until she finds her, dripping and shivering, and by then she is breathless and nearly frantic. “Beyza,” her name comes as an aching whisper under her breath, her chest constricting at the sight of her. As soon as she reaches her side she pulls her damp body close, teleporting both of them out of the open and into the protection of a thick stand of trees. Even once they are walled behind the tall trunks and sheltered from the breeze by their full limbs she does not let go, holding her close, trying to radiate all the warmth she can from her own body to her daughter’s.
She smells of blood and saltwater, a mixture that brings forward her own strange memories that she has to force away, but her heartbeat flutters nervously for a moment. “What happened?” she asks her, scanning her for any noticeable injuries. Her pale coat is streaked with blood and though it does not look like it’s her own, this does nothing to abate her worry. “Are you hurt?”
AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE
@
Beyza