02-05-2017, 03:01 PM
Ruan
Healing, he was still healing. Not the jagged scars that cut across his shoulders, those were just the same and would remain. But deep inside, he was still healing. Nothing had ever affected him so profoundly, so painfully. It wasn't because of what he'd lost, his wings. It was the helplessness, the weakness, that cut him so deeply. He'd been powerless, worthless as the beast forced him down and took what he wanted. Without a fight, without a challenge. He'd been belittled to nothing in that moment, vulnerable and useless.
Helpless.
He stood there now, in that same place, staring down at the dirt that had soaked in his blood. Often, he returned here. It no longer smelled of him, no longer reeked of his blood, but still the memories played so clearly in his mind. And no matter how he thought on it, he could never find a way to do things differently. If only he'd done something differently.
An ear flicked back as he became aware of her. Slowly, unnaturally bright eyes turned to her to find her studying him. And coming closer. Too close. His body tensed but held his ground. "I don't often see many here in the middle of the night," she observed, still gasping for breath from an apparent jog through the forest, her neck and sides painted darker with salty sweat. She smiled wide, easily, and introduced herself as Hawke.
It seemed to suit her, delicate and wild. Untamed, perhaps.
Ruan, he replied quietly but evenly. A simple trade of names. The bunch of his muscles showed he was uncomfortable with her closeness, though he did not shy from it. His haunted gaze stared back at her, as he considered her previous statement, that she did not often see others. Did she race through the night regularly, then? Odd pass-time for a girl on her own.
Nor do I, he agreed, though he was most often deep within a different forest at night. But tonight he'd needed distance, needed a change. He shifted his weight and resettled himself. Are you here often? he added, attempting to play the elusive game of conversation, a common activity often lost on him.
Helpless.
He stood there now, in that same place, staring down at the dirt that had soaked in his blood. Often, he returned here. It no longer smelled of him, no longer reeked of his blood, but still the memories played so clearly in his mind. And no matter how he thought on it, he could never find a way to do things differently. If only he'd done something differently.
An ear flicked back as he became aware of her. Slowly, unnaturally bright eyes turned to her to find her studying him. And coming closer. Too close. His body tensed but held his ground. "I don't often see many here in the middle of the night," she observed, still gasping for breath from an apparent jog through the forest, her neck and sides painted darker with salty sweat. She smiled wide, easily, and introduced herself as Hawke.
It seemed to suit her, delicate and wild. Untamed, perhaps.
Ruan, he replied quietly but evenly. A simple trade of names. The bunch of his muscles showed he was uncomfortable with her closeness, though he did not shy from it. His haunted gaze stared back at her, as he considered her previous statement, that she did not often see others. Did she race through the night regularly, then? Odd pass-time for a girl on her own.
Nor do I, he agreed, though he was most often deep within a different forest at night. But tonight he'd needed distance, needed a change. He shifted his weight and resettled himself. Are you here often? he added, attempting to play the elusive game of conversation, a common activity often lost on him.
