08-06-2018, 02:17 PM
Leilan
Your beauty is beyond compare -
oh, if I could hear but one song from you
I shall hail thee Queen of Birds...
oh, if I could hear but one song from you
I shall hail thee Queen of Birds...
If only he had seen. Alas, he does not. His vision is clouded by, well, not rage, but pain actually. That, or his eyes may just be a little watery. From the wind in his eyes, of course. Not for her.
His body is frozen on the spot, and that might be a good thing. Consider the alternative of a pumped-up, hurt and angry, stocky male warrior horse moving. He certainly would not know what he might have done to her, himself, but it can’t be good.
Instead, he just stares at her blindly. There she is. Saying nothing. For some reason he’d expected her to say something, a sorry maybe, or a question of what is wrong with him, but either she knows neither of this would help and probably would make him snap, or... whatever. Who cares anyway.
He moves - one left ear, slowly retreating into his mane as the silence continues, the right one twitching to do the same. Finally, then, he understands that she won’t speak to him. He growls a little, or grunts, he’s not entirely sure what the sound is, should be, or how he even creates it. For all he knows it might be his own heart crumbling to dust, like the rocks of a mountain slide crashing against one another.
And after what feels like ages, he finds his tongue. But not to apologize.
“What, exactly, were you thinking?” he scolds her like he would a yearling - voice like steel, like ice - steel that would shatter in a minute because of the cold. “Surely you could do a better job at avoiding me. You’re so good at that.” Another sneer, dripping with razor-sharp sarcasm.
He doesn’t even realize that he’s on the brink of snapping. That whatever she does now, it’s not going to be good enough.
His body is frozen on the spot, and that might be a good thing. Consider the alternative of a pumped-up, hurt and angry, stocky male warrior horse moving. He certainly would not know what he might have done to her, himself, but it can’t be good.
Instead, he just stares at her blindly. There she is. Saying nothing. For some reason he’d expected her to say something, a sorry maybe, or a question of what is wrong with him, but either she knows neither of this would help and probably would make him snap, or... whatever. Who cares anyway.
He moves - one left ear, slowly retreating into his mane as the silence continues, the right one twitching to do the same. Finally, then, he understands that she won’t speak to him. He growls a little, or grunts, he’s not entirely sure what the sound is, should be, or how he even creates it. For all he knows it might be his own heart crumbling to dust, like the rocks of a mountain slide crashing against one another.
And after what feels like ages, he finds his tongue. But not to apologize.
“What, exactly, were you thinking?” he scolds her like he would a yearling - voice like steel, like ice - steel that would shatter in a minute because of the cold. “Surely you could do a better job at avoiding me. You’re so good at that.” Another sneer, dripping with razor-sharp sarcasm.
He doesn’t even realize that he’s on the brink of snapping. That whatever she does now, it’s not going to be good enough.
"dear crow, your voice is right enough;
but where are your wits?"
but where are your wits?"
there's something here that doesn't make sense
let's go and poke it with a stick
let's go and poke it with a stick
@[Breckin] awww I’m sorry, this is gonna be bad
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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