02-05-2018, 06:33 PM
Khaedrik has only just gotten used to the presence of the fanged filly when another makes his presence known. He carries the same golden color as Khaedrik – with the exception of big white splotches. They remind Khaedrik of bones. But he is not bones; he is white cranberries and sunflower petals on a lake. Khaedrik stares at him as he gives his name, and his eyes swallow his face. He is just about to reply – when yet another joins their little party.
He notices her; he hears her coming and turns a polite smile at her; a smile that wasn´t a smile but a grin, and a grin that was a lie –
But there were no polygraphs here.
”Hello Sochi and Trekori” he offers – and his voice is a tenor – high and clear and beautiful, and altogether unexpected from that throat, those dark lips, those cold eternity-eyes.
”I was talking to the monster” the words crawl slowly, contemplatively from underneath the shadow of his breath. Khaedrik knows, and regrets it immediately, that by letting the thought slip from his lips he has unraveled a thousand secrets best left forgotten, again the lion is out of its cage. The boy is the fool, as he has always suspected.
No sooner has he let the stupid words slip from his mouth than his tusked acquaintance actually tries to save his non-existent dignity. Nevertheless – the look in the black-tar of his eyes as he turns to Kaurma, is one of gratitude.
”I don´t know how to play” he answers in response to Sochi´s question, and there is an almost apologetic note in his voice. He wonders if the other boy, Trekori, is much for games – somehow he doubts it. Kaurma – however, seems to have a knack for the obscure, and his small head shakes violently at her suggestion. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.
His shadow-creature however, rears its ugly head in response – and with the swift movement of predators it is out of its hiding. Khaedrik might not want to play a game of shadows and darkness – but it certainly does. It looms over them now – an amphora of sacrilege and atrocity and Khaedrik shrinks under the blasphemy-bright of its gaze. With aching slowness it sweeps a fanged maw over them. Sniffing
The briefest of seconds passes and Khaedrik bites hard into the gravel of failure.
He notices her; he hears her coming and turns a polite smile at her; a smile that wasn´t a smile but a grin, and a grin that was a lie –
But there were no polygraphs here.
”Hello Sochi and Trekori” he offers – and his voice is a tenor – high and clear and beautiful, and altogether unexpected from that throat, those dark lips, those cold eternity-eyes.
”I was talking to the monster” the words crawl slowly, contemplatively from underneath the shadow of his breath. Khaedrik knows, and regrets it immediately, that by letting the thought slip from his lips he has unraveled a thousand secrets best left forgotten, again the lion is out of its cage. The boy is the fool, as he has always suspected.
No sooner has he let the stupid words slip from his mouth than his tusked acquaintance actually tries to save his non-existent dignity. Nevertheless – the look in the black-tar of his eyes as he turns to Kaurma, is one of gratitude.
”I don´t know how to play” he answers in response to Sochi´s question, and there is an almost apologetic note in his voice. He wonders if the other boy, Trekori, is much for games – somehow he doubts it. Kaurma – however, seems to have a knack for the obscure, and his small head shakes violently at her suggestion. Bad idea. Bad, bad, bad idea.
His shadow-creature however, rears its ugly head in response – and with the swift movement of predators it is out of its hiding. Khaedrik might not want to play a game of shadows and darkness – but it certainly does. It looms over them now – an amphora of sacrilege and atrocity and Khaedrik shrinks under the blasphemy-bright of its gaze. With aching slowness it sweeps a fanged maw over them. Sniffing
The briefest of seconds passes and Khaedrik bites hard into the gravel of failure.