12-06-2016, 10:41 PM
Ruan
He never imagined he'd ever get so attached to those borrowed wings. He never thought he could miss them. But he had. And he did. And as that familiar voice cracked his silent reverie, his first reaction was to open them invitingly for his daughter in an attempt to pretend everything was ok. The muscles at his withers rolled and contracted, and there were no sails of feathers to lift. There was only pain, so very much pain. Bitter anger flared in hate.
His face pinched, and his breath caught in his throat as he bore his suffering in silence. The only change in his posture was a slight downward tilt of his chin and a stiffening in his body, his forelock draping carefully across his face. Blood welled at the wounds; the movement had reopened them. Immense agony spread through his nerves, searing through his speeding pulse as he stood locked solid and still.
A line of ice formed at his withers, traveled and grew along his spine to his tail. Plates of it bowed out from that foundation and covered his sides just enough to cap the bloodied lesions. As though through a sheet of glass, the crimson pressed and splayed against the armor. It hurt like hell. But it would be numb soon enough. So numb.
His eyes were hard, his face blank, as he slowly pinned her with a faintly glowing stare. Glacial blue met blood-red.
Dad, she'd called him. Yes, he was that. He was her father, if only by title alone. Not by blood, but still his girl. So quick to shelter her, to hold her close. To indulge her weakness. He'd always been so quick to cradle her in his strong embrace as though she were a child. For a while, she had been.
But now he saw her from these new eyes. Tall and slender, gaining graceful curves of womanhood. Not quite a girl, not quite a woman. Somewhere in between. It was up to him to teach her things, wasn't it? Teach her more than to run to someone when she felt weak. Teach her to hold her own, stand strong.
Fight back.
"W-what's wrong.. dad?"
Something deep within her sensed the threat and reacted. Her fire-eyes danced in anticipation, though she may not have even realized what she felt. She may not hear the call, but her fire was answering it. His blood chilled, cool eyes frosted in his own eager expectation.
His hips slid around so that he faced her squarely. He didn't even have to move, only stood calm. And numb. A pike of ice grew from nothing at her feet, angled to her chest. So slowly it lengthened, aiming true, careful to be gradual enough for her to see it coming.
He didn't want to do this. He wanted to pull her in close, let her warmth melt his frozen heart. But he was hurting, not just in his body but in his confusion. So much pain. And he wanted her to leave him, scare her away so she wouldn't see him this way. Make her hate him if he had to, no matter the heartbreak it would cause him.
Go home, little fire.
His face pinched, and his breath caught in his throat as he bore his suffering in silence. The only change in his posture was a slight downward tilt of his chin and a stiffening in his body, his forelock draping carefully across his face. Blood welled at the wounds; the movement had reopened them. Immense agony spread through his nerves, searing through his speeding pulse as he stood locked solid and still.
A line of ice formed at his withers, traveled and grew along his spine to his tail. Plates of it bowed out from that foundation and covered his sides just enough to cap the bloodied lesions. As though through a sheet of glass, the crimson pressed and splayed against the armor. It hurt like hell. But it would be numb soon enough. So numb.
His eyes were hard, his face blank, as he slowly pinned her with a faintly glowing stare. Glacial blue met blood-red.
Dad, she'd called him. Yes, he was that. He was her father, if only by title alone. Not by blood, but still his girl. So quick to shelter her, to hold her close. To indulge her weakness. He'd always been so quick to cradle her in his strong embrace as though she were a child. For a while, she had been.
But now he saw her from these new eyes. Tall and slender, gaining graceful curves of womanhood. Not quite a girl, not quite a woman. Somewhere in between. It was up to him to teach her things, wasn't it? Teach her more than to run to someone when she felt weak. Teach her to hold her own, stand strong.
Fight back.
"W-what's wrong.. dad?"
Something deep within her sensed the threat and reacted. Her fire-eyes danced in anticipation, though she may not have even realized what she felt. She may not hear the call, but her fire was answering it. His blood chilled, cool eyes frosted in his own eager expectation.
His hips slid around so that he faced her squarely. He didn't even have to move, only stood calm. And numb. A pike of ice grew from nothing at her feet, angled to her chest. So slowly it lengthened, aiming true, careful to be gradual enough for her to see it coming.
He didn't want to do this. He wanted to pull her in close, let her warmth melt his frozen heart. But he was hurting, not just in his body but in his confusion. So much pain. And he wanted her to leave him, scare her away so she wouldn't see him this way. Make her hate him if he had to, no matter the heartbreak it would cause him.
Go home, little fire.
