Daemron + Trekk cont from b2g

[Noori]

Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lilies and the vines

Wise little Daemron’s skepticism closes the clasps around Noori’s throat, banishing air from her lungs. Her small chestnut boy does not question the lie outright, but she knows. Her flaws clearly are shown, and her child has been graced with an eye for things unseen. It pains her to know that this characteristic had come from the combination of herself and Trekk. Neither of her other children would see through the ruse, not like this. Nihlus would be off-hand, queer. Cerva would be delicate, calculating. Daemron – he is unlike anything else she’s seen. He is perceptive and coolly unafraid; magnificent.

However perceptive her son may be, he manages to comment on where else he would be. He manages to pick the most ironic phrases, and the most painful, too. Noori’s eyes close, the clasps tightening still. She forces herself to continue gazing at the she-wolf, away from Daemron, away from a destiny she had forgone, away from Echo Trails and the Jungle and her parents and especially Trekk. Away from everything.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Daemron touching Trekk’s wing. An image flashes through her mind, one of the three of them deep in Echo trails, snuggled up beneath a willow tree in the midst of a storm. Noori is herself – a freckled chestnut roan, tiny, barely thirteen hands. Her eyes are brown and drowning in Trekk’s, her son is regular and yet amazing. They are a family, a cold, wet family, together in a way which none of them shall ever come to know.

Noori’s eyes squeeze together, forbidding the sap-like tears to fall. Her nose touches her shoulder opposite from Daemron, attempting to hide her regret, her shame, her misery. I don’t want to lie to you, she cries within herself. Her ribs burn for lack of oxygen, for the clasps do nothing but tighten. As Trekk plays the uncle-figure perfectly, Noori learns to live while dying, to breathe while suffocating. Her composure slowly returns, her neck straightening with a calm smile.

She returns to the conversation just in time to catch Trekk’s meaningful glance, the one that says that she is his home. The clasp tightens, but this time, she does not falter. Instead, she smiles again and says quietly, ”The Jungle is rather woman-oriented, I daresay.” Pain worms its way into her heart when Trekk reprimands her son, explaining their mysteriousness. This time however, her tongue holds out until he finishes, until it is safe to speak, until the clasp loosens just enough. ”He’s got your shade of chestnut,” She says softly, looking up at Trekk through her alabaster lashes. Fearing another bout of suffocation, Noori looks to Daemron with a secure smile – too secure. ”Child, do forgive my fumbling. Your brother has been lending me excess nerves as of late - you know how he is. Never in the same place for more than a day.”

noori