07-02-2017, 01:36 PM
Ellyse
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
A shiver traverses the length of her spine as winter gently caresses her skin with a whistling gale, draping its icy precipitation onto the rounded edges of her feathered appendages. She had left the humidity of the volcanic island behind, stirred as restlessness pushed her beyond the ashen boundary and into the salty sea, wading through the rumbling current until she had found the southern shoreline. The heavy hand of winter had yet to touch the far eastern side, and the sun is warm against her skin, as any remnants of the ocean water are evaporated from the impermeable surface of her feathers.
She presses on, with a heavy heart that beats unyieldingly - thump, thump it goes, urging her forward. She had to find him, but she had no idea where to look – the minutes faded into hours, until dusk had begun to fall, with a speckling of starlight hiding behind thick, roving clouds overhead. At last, the powerful churning of the river echoes throughout the thick woodland, drawing her out from the shadows and into the pale, waning daylight, and there he is –
Stark against the dull gray of the rapidly moving river and the pristine, untouched snow that lay draped over smooth boulders, he is still – with thick and heavy wings pressed against his sides, and his piercing cerulean gaze staring elsewhere. He is beautiful, she muses to herself, but not for her own satisfaction – within her, there is a stirring of life – a stirring of life she knew belonged as much to him as it belonged to her. Coiling her own feathered appendages against her flank (concealing any sign that she might be with child, though it was still early yet), she is quiet and watchful as his gaze meets with her own, as the dense shadow of evenfall envelopes them within the forest.
”I have never been one for snow,” she murmurs quietly, casting a glance towards the flurry falling gracefully from a dark and hazy sky. ”I prefer the warmth of summer more than most.”
Were you looking for me?
Her heart is suddenly uneasy within the tight confinement of her chest; she had been, but the lightness of his tone implies that he is only jesting. The dark, golden flecks of her hazel eyes search the handsome plane of his broad cheek, the brightness of his eyes, the tension of his strong jawline – their intimacy had been fleeting; a passionate but brief moment in time, with lasting consequences. Would he shy away from it?
”I was looking for you,” she breathes softly, closing the space between them (remembering the heat of him against her, of their quiet confessions made of fury and heartache) and touching her pale lips against the healing scar upon his shoulder. She had noticed it then, but said nothing – and even now, she does not pry. ”I think that you should come back to Tephra, Dahmer. You should give Offspring a chance. You belong there, with the ash and the smoke, as much as I do.”
You belong there, with our child, she does not say – not yet.
She presses on, with a heavy heart that beats unyieldingly - thump, thump it goes, urging her forward. She had to find him, but she had no idea where to look – the minutes faded into hours, until dusk had begun to fall, with a speckling of starlight hiding behind thick, roving clouds overhead. At last, the powerful churning of the river echoes throughout the thick woodland, drawing her out from the shadows and into the pale, waning daylight, and there he is –
Stark against the dull gray of the rapidly moving river and the pristine, untouched snow that lay draped over smooth boulders, he is still – with thick and heavy wings pressed against his sides, and his piercing cerulean gaze staring elsewhere. He is beautiful, she muses to herself, but not for her own satisfaction – within her, there is a stirring of life – a stirring of life she knew belonged as much to him as it belonged to her. Coiling her own feathered appendages against her flank (concealing any sign that she might be with child, though it was still early yet), she is quiet and watchful as his gaze meets with her own, as the dense shadow of evenfall envelopes them within the forest.
”I have never been one for snow,” she murmurs quietly, casting a glance towards the flurry falling gracefully from a dark and hazy sky. ”I prefer the warmth of summer more than most.”
Were you looking for me?
Her heart is suddenly uneasy within the tight confinement of her chest; she had been, but the lightness of his tone implies that he is only jesting. The dark, golden flecks of her hazel eyes search the handsome plane of his broad cheek, the brightness of his eyes, the tension of his strong jawline – their intimacy had been fleeting; a passionate but brief moment in time, with lasting consequences. Would he shy away from it?
”I was looking for you,” she breathes softly, closing the space between them (remembering the heat of him against her, of their quiet confessions made of fury and heartache) and touching her pale lips against the healing scar upon his shoulder. She had noticed it then, but said nothing – and even now, she does not pry. ”I think that you should come back to Tephra, Dahmer. You should give Offspring a chance. You belong there, with the ash and the smoke, as much as I do.”
You belong there, with our child, she does not say – not yet.
head of war of tephra
daughter of elysium & speck
daughter of elysium & speck
@[Dahmer]