06-23-2017, 10:34 AM
don't put my love on your back burner; never let anything that hot get cold
Perhaps a bit too trusting, his deep and unwavering concern for his mother, who he knew too well had a predilection to saying what is on her mind (even when she should leave well enough alone), is at the forefront of any innate instinct he might have about the unusual situation. He is quiet, but wary, his golden gaze held steady upon the speckling of obsidian across her ivory and charcoal skin.
She is unfamiliar to him, but her rigid posture and the unyielding silence is nearly enough to stir suspicion, but the path to the volcanic island is well-trodden and typical in its scenery (the thick brush, the occasional smattering of jagged boulders from when the ground had reformed itself) – so much so that he is unaware of how much time had passed, more unnerved by her muteness than by the unusual amount of time traveled.
Sooner than she might have liked, the ruse has begun to slip – the ocean, and its subtle rumbling roar, is nearby, but the scent lingering in the air is not at all what he remembers. The brow line above his eyes is furrowed in thought; the thick line of humidity he was used to enveloping him had not come, and the sea is somehow different - there is an updraft of wind that laces itself through his long, haphazard tresses, and it is cool to the touch, and carries a scent he has never experienced before.
There were few things in life Canaan knew as well as the wind, and its updraft is not at all usual for the volcanic isle – something is not right, and just as his dark lips part in protest, the illusion that is Tephra falls away, and in its wake, something unfamiliar, with jagged crags and steep overhangs – nothing of what he is used to. Nothing of what he has known.
It is then that he realizes she has turned towards him, her eyes carrying no warmth – her piercing gaze is as frigid as she is, and her humorless smile does not provoke one of his own.
I would rather not hurt you, she says so simply, but he cannot imagine why she would want to.
He has done nothing to her – and yet she has brought him here, so far away from what he has known – why?
”Why?
It is a simple question, but full of weight. Within him, a zephyr emerges, though he does well to quell its tempestuous urge.
He does not yet know what she is capable of – if she can veil the Earth in her illusions, what else might she be capable of?
”Why me? I don’t even know you –“
But you know my mother, he recognizes, uncertainty glimmering within his gaze. And she isn’t here.
”How do you know my name? What do you want from me?”
She is unfamiliar to him, but her rigid posture and the unyielding silence is nearly enough to stir suspicion, but the path to the volcanic island is well-trodden and typical in its scenery (the thick brush, the occasional smattering of jagged boulders from when the ground had reformed itself) – so much so that he is unaware of how much time had passed, more unnerved by her muteness than by the unusual amount of time traveled.
Sooner than she might have liked, the ruse has begun to slip – the ocean, and its subtle rumbling roar, is nearby, but the scent lingering in the air is not at all what he remembers. The brow line above his eyes is furrowed in thought; the thick line of humidity he was used to enveloping him had not come, and the sea is somehow different - there is an updraft of wind that laces itself through his long, haphazard tresses, and it is cool to the touch, and carries a scent he has never experienced before.
There were few things in life Canaan knew as well as the wind, and its updraft is not at all usual for the volcanic isle – something is not right, and just as his dark lips part in protest, the illusion that is Tephra falls away, and in its wake, something unfamiliar, with jagged crags and steep overhangs – nothing of what he is used to. Nothing of what he has known.
It is then that he realizes she has turned towards him, her eyes carrying no warmth – her piercing gaze is as frigid as she is, and her humorless smile does not provoke one of his own.
I would rather not hurt you, she says so simply, but he cannot imagine why she would want to.
He has done nothing to her – and yet she has brought him here, so far away from what he has known – why?
”Why?
It is a simple question, but full of weight. Within him, a zephyr emerges, though he does well to quell its tempestuous urge.
He does not yet know what she is capable of – if she can veil the Earth in her illusions, what else might she be capable of?
”Why me? I don’t even know you –“
But you know my mother, he recognizes, uncertainty glimmering within his gaze. And she isn’t here.
”How do you know my name? What do you want from me?”
CANAAN
(son of magnus & ellyse)