when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
There are different types of sight here in Beqanna. Inward eyes that open and peer into the mind, or into the soul, even the power to see past, present, future. Sight is a relative term around this place, being that it didn’t matter how you saw things, simply: what do you see?
What Wyrm sees is something that rattles him deep to the bone.
They are children yet. Children. Rapture is still a filly to him, though the lines of her body and the confidence in her mannerisms would argue otherwise. The colt, whomever he may be, is wiry and not yet filled out. Still, the children below his hidden perch are acting not as children do - they are filled with the curiosity of exploration. Hidden secrets that didn’t seem to matter in blissful youth are now unraveling into exciting new possibilities right before him and all Wyrm can seem to manage is a disgusted frown. He lets it pass, like water over his skin, watches silently while they exchange emotions and touch, but when his daughter leans close and offers the colt a glimpse further into her abilities, Wyrm is already moving to interrupt them.
Sleek and powerful as silk when it glides over fingertips the dark, spotted cat slips off his branch to land with a muffled thud nearby. He needs no introduction nor does he offer one as he sidles abruptly into their quiet friendship, only rubs himself briefly against the legs and side of his offspring before pinning the colt with hard, red eyes. “Raaaptureee…” He purrs, rounded ears flicking back while his shoulders roll irritably. His velvet tail tweaks slowly side-to-side, a life of his own while he appraises the boy with downturned lips. “... Who’s this?”
He’s not finished, though. A block head, thick and satin black, turns slowly on his shoulders so that he can pass a look of understanding to his brilliant girl. “Not everyone is to be trusted.” He tells her rather bluntly, finding that the words sound harsher when spoken. As if he had forgotten him entirely, Wyrm the jaguar blinks wearily before turning his focus back to the strange bay. “And very few have good intentions.”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
