when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
He’s not even sure he’s capable of love. Wyrm has never felt it (at least, to his knowledge) but he knows it exists. It drives men to madness, destroys empires, echoes with wailing through heaven and hell. But, once in a while (or, every few lifetimes) it does the opposite. It can forge power like great steel that sends terror and glory slicing through eternity. Perhaps they have what it takes - these two, to create such a weapon. Perhaps they can rise and wield it together, leave a wake of fire and ash that their son and daughter might walk through. Perhaps.
For now, though, Wyrm is spellbound with the way that Heartfire is in this moment. Tender, affectionate and calm though her true nature still remains. He locks it away; the smooth lines of her face, the warmth that emanates from her smile, even the way she beckons their children to her so naturally. The green shifter is suddenly intensely glad that he had requested this of her. “This is your family.” He recites to himself, peering at them while they settle perfectly into the frame of what one should look like.
He has not forgotten, however, how they came about. “I want to help you, in any way that I can.” Wyrm tells their mother, “Revenge still grows in your breast, does it not?” He questions, the green eye narrowing while the blue eye widens in a quizzical stance. His tail flicks, idly, the saltwater on his skin leaving streaks of white rivulets across his hide. Heartfire would stay here, he doesn’t doubt it - two straggling children would even slow him down. So he would remain too, for the time being. It was better to be her support, better to assume the role he’s always taken with her. It doesn’t shame him that she should lead, she does it so well, so easily, and Wyrm has always known that Heartfires ability to direct quells his otherwise unpredictable mood.
“Tell me what I can do, Heartfire.”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
