lost to these linens / warrick

[Warrick]

we are crooked souls trying to stay up straight

The depths of twilight filter throughout the landscape, spilling blue-black darkness across the sky and dipping into the grooves and hollows of volcanic rock, darkening the ocean waters that are illuminated only by a rising full moon. The rhythmic sound of the waves against the blackened shoreline (dotted with broken shells, glittering softly as the moonlight catches the worn down lava rocks) are mixed with the soft hiss of tropical foliage behind it, stirring gently in the night wind as the thrumming of the volcano pulses with a vibrant orange glow.

A blue-tipped ear flicks back as the sound of a familiar voice (older now, somehow, more mature) finds him on the sea’s breeze, his head following as he turns to glance over his shoulder. A smile - broad and all encompassing - finds his navy muzzle and a sharp neigh of welcome vibrates in his throat, calling her to him. In his excitement to see her he turns toward Wishbone, the wings at his side unfurl and sweep beside him once, then twice, before folding back to his sides.

“Wishbone,” he says to her as he greets her with an embrace, his neck around hers. Nostrils flutter as his mouth gently tousles the damp tendrils of her mane at her withers, inhaling the scent of Nerine’s cliffs and summits, a pang of sadness gripping his heart as he realizes there is no trace of smoke or brine on her skin. She is truly Nerinian now - a Leviathan.

Soon to be queen.

The Overseer steps away from their intimate embrace, huffing softly as his large cerulean eyes take in her figure. She has grown admirably, of which he is not surprised in the least. She has grown in height and in muscle, and he cannot help but note the new scarring that litters her shoulders and other parts of her auburn hide. Wishbone had always been covered in soft bruises and scrapes as a child, but knowing that these come from practicing skill and not from play, the silent concern of a father is found flickering in his eyes. But there is adoration there, too. The warm smile never fades from Warrick’s expression as he steps forward to place a kiss between her soft and kind eyes (which he hopes never changes).

“You have made me proud, my daughter.”

Warrick

@[Wishbone]