03-22-2016, 06:13 AM
when you fall I'll be the only one who looks away;
when you call I'll be the first to tell you I can't stay.
when you call I'll be the first to tell you I can't stay.
He delights in the way her lips touch and caress his skin, even into the newly birthed light of morning. He savors the dim lighting of a rising sun, still cast in the shadows with her tightly held in his embrace, bathing in its faint light as it slowly permeates and penetrates the thick forest canopy. He tastes her again and again, showering her in affections as silence falls comfortably between them. Between intermittent dozing and soft, breathy kisses, he has fallen into a lull, comfortable to remain within these moments of solace with her for eternity, if at all possible.
But as with all things, good things must eventually come to an end. He stirs as she shifts away from him, her warmth suddenly absent from his side as she draws away. His deep crimson gaze follows her carefully, observing her every moment. He does not want her to fade away into the morning, like a beautiful, tumultuous dream, leaving him drenched in sweat and with an aching heart - but she does not. She lingers, the warmth of her own eyes meeting his, and his heart soothes .. though he knows this sudden distance may mean something he does not want to contend with.
I'll follow you anywhere, she says earnestly, yet he can sense a deeply imbedded but lingering at the end of the sentence, and he is not disappointed by his own intuition when she presses on. But I need to see my mother first, I understand something now that I didn’t before. Her words swirl and swim in his mind as the tired, weary gears begin to turn. He tries to focus on her previous statement - a verbal agreement; a confirmation of her feelings for him - rather than linger on the dread that is beginning to well up within his chest. She has not parted abruptly this time, and for that he is grateful, but he cannot ward away the ache of pain that dully throbs in his chest.
As if sensing his hesitation, she says to him, I will always come back to you, Offspring, I promise. I only need three days. And three days feels like an eternity to him in that moment, even with the many tens of thousands of days he has lived. He nods slowly to acknowledge her, though the aching does not cease. It grows, filled with a despairing longing that will surely eat away at him in pieces, like a flesh eating bacteria, gnawing away at his well being until she was with him again. He swallows it, willing it away as his eyes meet with hers.
"If you must go, I will not stop you. I will see you in three days, Isle. He murmurs gently to her as her lips touch his cheek, and then she is gone, and suddenly the darkness of sunrise settles into his flesh and he feels altogether alone. It is time to descend to the icy confines of his dwelling now, and leave the heated kisses, lustful touches and intimate moments beneath the forest canopy. He watches her go, doubt etched in his features but a bubbling of hope festers in his heart and he knows that somehow, she would find her way back to him. As she disappears from his sight, he stirs and flexes his sore, tired muscles, stirring them to life as he finally shakes himself away from the embrace of morning and turns the other way. Home.
--
Much has changed in only a few days, and it is only within the depths of the icy embrace of evening that he longs for her most. She is never gone from his mind - far from it, but he is now filled with a terrible longing that has far exceeded even his own expectations. He had returned to the kingdom of ice, beckoned by his King and urged to step into the Brotherhood - and now he remains, scarred by its experiences emotionally and physically. His mind often falls into short, breathy lapses as he draws onto those heart-wrenching memories that had been drudged up by the inner demons that lie within. He had seen death, despair and loss, within minutes - hours? - he could not possibly know; his time spent in the cave felt like it had lasted an eternity, but it had also happened so quickly his mind had hardly been able to process the terror it had left behind.
He had pressed through, in spite of the scourge that had settled into his weary heart, and his mind now draws between the living nightmare he had endured, along with his anxious hunger to touch and kiss his sweet Isle again. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he draws upon the word King and its meaning. Something had been seen within him for the alabaster monarch to pass the torch unto him, and now the title he held weighed heavily on him and his own mind. He felt as if he was pulled in many directions, altogether torn, his mind a constant turmoil of uncertainty.
Now, in the dying light of evening, the dawn of the the third day fast approaches. The stark, white scar has settled onto his skin (he had seen it in his own reflection, admired its smooth lines and sharp contrast), forever pressed onto his left cheek - a permanent marking of his Brotherhood to the icy kingdom. His massive stature shifts in the pale moonlight as it begins to peek through the heavy clouds that lazily drift through the sky, blanketing the dying valley in its darkness. He stirs and flexes, stimulating his blood to flow to his tired, cold extremities, his weary mind altogether aware of how many days had passed since he had last seen her.
The King of the Tundra had much on his mind, many changes to implement and many more lives in his care now. He was no longer a wanderer, but a leader, and the severity of it weighed on his mind as the reality of it sunk into the recesses of his mind. He knew he would have to take the title and absorb it and allow it to permeate his icy, stoic exterior - he would have to exude the same warmth he had harbored within so long, while also holding a demeanor of strength and courage in difficult times. It was no burden; it was an honor. One that might take getting used to, and one that might take convincing for others to see as well.
With a deep, heavy sigh, he pulls himself from his reverie as he stirs and pushes forward from the comfort of the shadows. He shakes his tangled tresses as he wanders forward, his weight pressing thick prints into the hardening soil. Winter is approaching, and though the tundra flatland has grown dry and brittle in previous days, it is only a matter of time until the icy embrace of winter envelopes itself around the land, blanketing in thick, pristine snow. This soothes him, as the cold is meant for a hefty beast such as himself. He looks forward to it, and awaits its presence.
He pauses to drink in the sight of his land, of his kingdom. He wonders for a moment what she will think, how she will react when she finds out. Would she turn away and leave? Would she view him differently? Dread again rose up within his mind. He did not want it to alter what he shared with her, for he was the very same he had always been and would always be .. but he knew time might have to be the all-telling factor to make her believe such things. Their love was still so new, so fresh that it reminded him of a newly birthed spring, bright with its allure of new life, warm with the promises of sunshine and tasting as sweet as the flowers that scatter and blossom about. There were still many things about her he did not know, that he ached to know - and many things about himself that he had not shared and might never share.
If she were to return to him, that is.
With a deep, breathy sigh, he walks on, his limbs shifting to and fro as he stalks the perimeter of the border. Brynmor was usually so dedicated to this task on his own, yet this evening, he must have found himself wrapped up in the affections of another - Roan, he had come to know her name to be, and he suppresses a smile at the thought. He is interrupted by his own thoughts as a sweet, familiar scent rises in the air. Flora and fauna. His heart skips a beat within his chest and he moves faster now, to the very slim entrance at the base of their wall of ice, uncertain but hopeful that dawn will bring with it his sweet Isle.
And there she is. Aglow beneath the light of rising sun and changing sky, her gentle, kind features are illuminated, warming him to the bone. She is as lovely as he remembers, caressed by the light of morning, and again, his heart is soothed. He barely noticed the rising wind, which tangled itself in his tresses, pressing them away from his crimson eyes, which bore into her as he took in the sight of her. He presses past the barrier of ice, closing the space between them and drawing her close as he presses his whiskered lips to her cheek, taking in the sight and scent of her so near to him again. The corners of his lips press into a smile as he studies her, his breath icy against her cheek - she knew not yet of his newly acquired, altogether terrifying power of ice control, and he would hide it away for now, though it had already settled into his skin and his blood and in spite of the warmth he exuded, there was still an icy bite to his touch now and again.
"What took you so long?" He teases, a low rumbling chuckle rising in his throat as he kisses her again, brushing her dark tendrils of hair away from her beautiful eyes. "I have missed you, Isle," He breathed, drawing her closer as the icy chill of morning settles in. "and there are not enough words to say how glad I am that you have come."
But as with all things, good things must eventually come to an end. He stirs as she shifts away from him, her warmth suddenly absent from his side as she draws away. His deep crimson gaze follows her carefully, observing her every moment. He does not want her to fade away into the morning, like a beautiful, tumultuous dream, leaving him drenched in sweat and with an aching heart - but she does not. She lingers, the warmth of her own eyes meeting his, and his heart soothes .. though he knows this sudden distance may mean something he does not want to contend with.
I'll follow you anywhere, she says earnestly, yet he can sense a deeply imbedded but lingering at the end of the sentence, and he is not disappointed by his own intuition when she presses on. But I need to see my mother first, I understand something now that I didn’t before. Her words swirl and swim in his mind as the tired, weary gears begin to turn. He tries to focus on her previous statement - a verbal agreement; a confirmation of her feelings for him - rather than linger on the dread that is beginning to well up within his chest. She has not parted abruptly this time, and for that he is grateful, but he cannot ward away the ache of pain that dully throbs in his chest.
As if sensing his hesitation, she says to him, I will always come back to you, Offspring, I promise. I only need three days. And three days feels like an eternity to him in that moment, even with the many tens of thousands of days he has lived. He nods slowly to acknowledge her, though the aching does not cease. It grows, filled with a despairing longing that will surely eat away at him in pieces, like a flesh eating bacteria, gnawing away at his well being until she was with him again. He swallows it, willing it away as his eyes meet with hers.
"If you must go, I will not stop you. I will see you in three days, Isle. He murmurs gently to her as her lips touch his cheek, and then she is gone, and suddenly the darkness of sunrise settles into his flesh and he feels altogether alone. It is time to descend to the icy confines of his dwelling now, and leave the heated kisses, lustful touches and intimate moments beneath the forest canopy. He watches her go, doubt etched in his features but a bubbling of hope festers in his heart and he knows that somehow, she would find her way back to him. As she disappears from his sight, he stirs and flexes his sore, tired muscles, stirring them to life as he finally shakes himself away from the embrace of morning and turns the other way. Home.
--
Much has changed in only a few days, and it is only within the depths of the icy embrace of evening that he longs for her most. She is never gone from his mind - far from it, but he is now filled with a terrible longing that has far exceeded even his own expectations. He had returned to the kingdom of ice, beckoned by his King and urged to step into the Brotherhood - and now he remains, scarred by its experiences emotionally and physically. His mind often falls into short, breathy lapses as he draws onto those heart-wrenching memories that had been drudged up by the inner demons that lie within. He had seen death, despair and loss, within minutes - hours? - he could not possibly know; his time spent in the cave felt like it had lasted an eternity, but it had also happened so quickly his mind had hardly been able to process the terror it had left behind.
He had pressed through, in spite of the scourge that had settled into his weary heart, and his mind now draws between the living nightmare he had endured, along with his anxious hunger to touch and kiss his sweet Isle again. Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, he draws upon the word King and its meaning. Something had been seen within him for the alabaster monarch to pass the torch unto him, and now the title he held weighed heavily on him and his own mind. He felt as if he was pulled in many directions, altogether torn, his mind a constant turmoil of uncertainty.
Now, in the dying light of evening, the dawn of the the third day fast approaches. The stark, white scar has settled onto his skin (he had seen it in his own reflection, admired its smooth lines and sharp contrast), forever pressed onto his left cheek - a permanent marking of his Brotherhood to the icy kingdom. His massive stature shifts in the pale moonlight as it begins to peek through the heavy clouds that lazily drift through the sky, blanketing the dying valley in its darkness. He stirs and flexes, stimulating his blood to flow to his tired, cold extremities, his weary mind altogether aware of how many days had passed since he had last seen her.
The King of the Tundra had much on his mind, many changes to implement and many more lives in his care now. He was no longer a wanderer, but a leader, and the severity of it weighed on his mind as the reality of it sunk into the recesses of his mind. He knew he would have to take the title and absorb it and allow it to permeate his icy, stoic exterior - he would have to exude the same warmth he had harbored within so long, while also holding a demeanor of strength and courage in difficult times. It was no burden; it was an honor. One that might take getting used to, and one that might take convincing for others to see as well.
With a deep, heavy sigh, he pulls himself from his reverie as he stirs and pushes forward from the comfort of the shadows. He shakes his tangled tresses as he wanders forward, his weight pressing thick prints into the hardening soil. Winter is approaching, and though the tundra flatland has grown dry and brittle in previous days, it is only a matter of time until the icy embrace of winter envelopes itself around the land, blanketing in thick, pristine snow. This soothes him, as the cold is meant for a hefty beast such as himself. He looks forward to it, and awaits its presence.
He pauses to drink in the sight of his land, of his kingdom. He wonders for a moment what she will think, how she will react when she finds out. Would she turn away and leave? Would she view him differently? Dread again rose up within his mind. He did not want it to alter what he shared with her, for he was the very same he had always been and would always be .. but he knew time might have to be the all-telling factor to make her believe such things. Their love was still so new, so fresh that it reminded him of a newly birthed spring, bright with its allure of new life, warm with the promises of sunshine and tasting as sweet as the flowers that scatter and blossom about. There were still many things about her he did not know, that he ached to know - and many things about himself that he had not shared and might never share.
If she were to return to him, that is.
With a deep, breathy sigh, he walks on, his limbs shifting to and fro as he stalks the perimeter of the border. Brynmor was usually so dedicated to this task on his own, yet this evening, he must have found himself wrapped up in the affections of another - Roan, he had come to know her name to be, and he suppresses a smile at the thought. He is interrupted by his own thoughts as a sweet, familiar scent rises in the air. Flora and fauna. His heart skips a beat within his chest and he moves faster now, to the very slim entrance at the base of their wall of ice, uncertain but hopeful that dawn will bring with it his sweet Isle.
And there she is. Aglow beneath the light of rising sun and changing sky, her gentle, kind features are illuminated, warming him to the bone. She is as lovely as he remembers, caressed by the light of morning, and again, his heart is soothed. He barely noticed the rising wind, which tangled itself in his tresses, pressing them away from his crimson eyes, which bore into her as he took in the sight of her. He presses past the barrier of ice, closing the space between them and drawing her close as he presses his whiskered lips to her cheek, taking in the sight and scent of her so near to him again. The corners of his lips press into a smile as he studies her, his breath icy against her cheek - she knew not yet of his newly acquired, altogether terrifying power of ice control, and he would hide it away for now, though it had already settled into his skin and his blood and in spite of the warmth he exuded, there was still an icy bite to his touch now and again.
"What took you so long?" He teases, a low rumbling chuckle rising in his throat as he kisses her again, brushing her dark tendrils of hair away from her beautiful eyes. "I have missed you, Isle," He breathed, drawing her closer as the icy chill of morning settles in. "and there are not enough words to say how glad I am that you have come."
the ice king of the tundra
OFFSPRING
Here, have a book. :| I don't even know why I wrote so much. Word vomit, everywhere.
No need to regard the first part - I just wanted to conclude. :)