12-13-2016, 08:58 AM
we’re on each other’s team…
She looked then behind her—chancing that perhaps he was still the Ruan she knew of old. The bolt of light had dissipated into snow, falling in small white specks upon his already speckled hide. What then she displayed was something unlike she had ever shown anyone publically.
The tears that streamed down her face showed exactly what she felt, and it worked down the slope of her grey cheek before it hit the grassy floor with a thunk and grew mushrooms where she stood.
Her hair fell in strings around her face, and the once composed lady lowered her head, and loosened her posture to show just how broken she felt. The Irish woman flipped her tail upward and then back down again—irritated, agitated—before she turned around to look at him. A perfect circle was made in the ashy soil at her feet, and she stared at him; bright green needles that threatened to prod her into motion. Instead, her tears threatened to drown them both, holding her at bay. She shakes her head, her emotions barely containing themselves as she speaks to him, her voice quavering at barely just above a whisper.
“You are free, Ruan. To do as you please. But I am not your keeper. I am your mate—not your mother.” She sniffs, her eyes going from a light to a dark green, those spikes finally letting loose. “She’s dead.” She snarled, her velvety voice coming at him in elastic waves of sound that cover them both.
“I am from another world. A world you have no part in. A past that has memories that have been trapped and heldfast to the roots of a land that no longer exists.” She steps forward to him now, the wind picking up as she gains volume to her voice; she was shivering with sadness, and brokenness. Now; anger. “The demons from that world have itched their way here from your worst nightmares, and now threaten to drown us all, and what do you do—you wallow. You’re better than this.” Her muscles ripple, and the ice that belted around him like an armor—trained and reformed, made better; made flesh. Ice wings that fitted with a lock to the muscles and bones of where Ruan’s wings had been—using Ruan’s own magic to create them. Magical ice that never had to melt—no matter the season. “You know those wings were never your to begin with, and yet you never consider—this.”
She blinked at him, snorts, and turns to the side, considering him, testing his mettle. “If you must find someone to blame—blame me. But do not wallow in your self-doubt. There is no room in my life to be a mother to my lover. If this is what you intend my life to be… then leave. Or stay—and be the man I know you are.”
She’s terse, but takes one calculated step forward. “Your choice.”