07-15-2015, 09:15 PM
If this is to end in fire then we should all burn together
The water caressing his chest, his shoulders, his sides, his hips, it touched all the scarred places on his body just like Zurry once had, tracing thin spiderweb markings and thick, ropy gouges alike without shying away from the things he had once thought were so ugly. Disfiguring reminders of his fucked up childhood, the way he’d taken his anger and his hurt and his sorrow out on his body. Reminders even his healer of a brother couldn’t erase, not when he’d needed them so badly. So viscerally. Needed the pain to chase away the darkest parts of his mind, the haunted-hurt-little-boy parts that had turned into something cruel and vicious and self-destructive. To chase away the imaginary voice of a dead woman he used to haunt himself and hurt himself and break himself down. They were not ugly, not the scars on his body or his face, and not the ones on his heart. Maybe they weren’t the beautiful badges of courage and strength and survival Zur had proclaimed them to be, but they were his. They were him. And somehow, somewhere along the line, he had finally made peace with them. Maybe when he’d made peace with his mom.
And he had, somehow. She was dead and gone, but somehow…somewhere in the blurry time between leaving Beqanna and returning, somewhere in the fog and the mist and the lost days, he had found peace in his heart where there had never been peace before. And part of him wondered if maybe he’d been…not with her. He wasn’t dead, it wouldn’t have made any sense. But…closer. If somehow he’d felt how much she loved him no matter what had happened here, and it had been enough for him to let go of a decade of anger and hurt. He felt clean, washed clean like the stream was washing away the dust and dirt and dried on sweat. So he played, like he hadn’t since he was a carefree boy.
Heavy footfalls added a new rhythm, a steady drumbeat to accent the trickling of the water, the rustling of the leaves as the breeze stirred the trees to dance, the songs of nearby birds and the chittering of a few squirrels, and the splash of the water as he tossed his head and sent it flying through the air, light catching in the drops as they scattered. The beat was a welcome counterpart, rather than an interruption, and he carried on even as laughter rang out, another lovely addition to the song of the day.
“Join away,” Drow replied in his husky, gravelly voice, a twinkle of amusement in his pale metallic eyes, brushed gold and silver, the mirror of his twin’s. The stranger was big and broad and dark, draft blood evident in the width of his shoulders, the set of his hips, the size of his hooves. Almost familiar, in fact, though he couldn’t think why. And the playful glint in his golden eyes drew a matching grin out of Drow even as water splashed his way. A few drops landed on Drow, cool and refreshing and all the more fun for having been thrown by a playmate, and Drow lurched to his feet, deliberately thrashing his head to throw water at tall dark and playful. “The water’s nice and cool,” he added with a quirk of his lips before kicking another spray of water toward golden eyes.
And he had, somehow. She was dead and gone, but somehow…somewhere in the blurry time between leaving Beqanna and returning, somewhere in the fog and the mist and the lost days, he had found peace in his heart where there had never been peace before. And part of him wondered if maybe he’d been…not with her. He wasn’t dead, it wouldn’t have made any sense. But…closer. If somehow he’d felt how much she loved him no matter what had happened here, and it had been enough for him to let go of a decade of anger and hurt. He felt clean, washed clean like the stream was washing away the dust and dirt and dried on sweat. So he played, like he hadn’t since he was a carefree boy.
Heavy footfalls added a new rhythm, a steady drumbeat to accent the trickling of the water, the rustling of the leaves as the breeze stirred the trees to dance, the songs of nearby birds and the chittering of a few squirrels, and the splash of the water as he tossed his head and sent it flying through the air, light catching in the drops as they scattered. The beat was a welcome counterpart, rather than an interruption, and he carried on even as laughter rang out, another lovely addition to the song of the day.
“Join away,” Drow replied in his husky, gravelly voice, a twinkle of amusement in his pale metallic eyes, brushed gold and silver, the mirror of his twin’s. The stranger was big and broad and dark, draft blood evident in the width of his shoulders, the set of his hips, the size of his hooves. Almost familiar, in fact, though he couldn’t think why. And the playful glint in his golden eyes drew a matching grin out of Drow even as water splashed his way. A few drops landed on Drow, cool and refreshing and all the more fun for having been thrown by a playmate, and Drow lurched to his feet, deliberately thrashing his head to throw water at tall dark and playful. “The water’s nice and cool,” he added with a quirk of his lips before kicking another spray of water toward golden eyes.
Watch the flames climb high into the night
Drow
That is fair and Gaza is adorable and Drow approves.