09-11-2018, 11:25 PM
hold me in this wild, wild world
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
She’s lucky to have come when she has – he has finally emerged from the dark, from his hiding in the night and the cove with his family. A hermit, for all intents and purposes, while he figured his shit out. Now the daytime has become familiar again, the warmth of the sun on his upturned face while he stands quietly. Of course he has not abandoned his nighttime wanderings, for he is ever an insomniac, but his people have seen him out and about again.
His eyes are closed, but he can still feel the approach of another across the narrow strip of real estate that is land sometimes and water the rest; it takes a moment with the new senses to place an identity. But he does, eventually, and the spotted figure swims in his mind’s eye before he opens his eyes and follows the rest of her approach, a quiet half—smile on his face to welcome her. The bay doesn’t move to meet her in the middle, but not out of some weird sense of superiority but merely because he’s truly comfortable in this exact moment, and relaxed, the sun warming his slightly outstretched wings and his dark pelt as the sea-salt breeze blows gently in his direction. In this moment, he’s managed to pretend to be healed from the most recent scars left on his heart, and moving would break the spell.
Brennen does straighten, and reach out to return the friendly touch of greeting, breathing in the familiar scent of their sister-kingdom the spotted mare’s coat even as he murmurs her name, less exuberant but with no less affection. An ear flick catches the playful ‘something’s different’ and a little smile flickers at the edge of his mouth, as close to ‘mischievious’ as Brennen is likely to get, and he reaches for the water. This has become as easy as breathing – easier, perhaps. As easy for Brennen as flying, the thing that feels most natural. Perhaps it’s the abundance of available water around Ischia for practicing, or perhaps simply because it’s his element and the closest to his beloved ice and snow of his Tundra, but the waters of Ischia dance to his call.
Tendrils bubble up from behind them and wind around her feet, her torso, liquid streamers shimmering the sunlight before cascading down to form a new pool between them, reflecting bay and white bodies above in a puddle that barely even quivers despite being magically moving a moment ago. “Different? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he deadpans, but the laughter is in his eyes. He chooses to forget for now that there is other, less pleasant differences in his life. “But there is something different about you, too. Are you going to share?” He can feel something, but without prying into her mind (and he would not think to do such a thing), he isn’t sure what it is.
His eyes are closed, but he can still feel the approach of another across the narrow strip of real estate that is land sometimes and water the rest; it takes a moment with the new senses to place an identity. But he does, eventually, and the spotted figure swims in his mind’s eye before he opens his eyes and follows the rest of her approach, a quiet half—smile on his face to welcome her. The bay doesn’t move to meet her in the middle, but not out of some weird sense of superiority but merely because he’s truly comfortable in this exact moment, and relaxed, the sun warming his slightly outstretched wings and his dark pelt as the sea-salt breeze blows gently in his direction. In this moment, he’s managed to pretend to be healed from the most recent scars left on his heart, and moving would break the spell.
Brennen does straighten, and reach out to return the friendly touch of greeting, breathing in the familiar scent of their sister-kingdom the spotted mare’s coat even as he murmurs her name, less exuberant but with no less affection. An ear flick catches the playful ‘something’s different’ and a little smile flickers at the edge of his mouth, as close to ‘mischievious’ as Brennen is likely to get, and he reaches for the water. This has become as easy as breathing – easier, perhaps. As easy for Brennen as flying, the thing that feels most natural. Perhaps it’s the abundance of available water around Ischia for practicing, or perhaps simply because it’s his element and the closest to his beloved ice and snow of his Tundra, but the waters of Ischia dance to his call.
Tendrils bubble up from behind them and wind around her feet, her torso, liquid streamers shimmering the sunlight before cascading down to form a new pool between them, reflecting bay and white bodies above in a puddle that barely even quivers despite being magically moving a moment ago. “Different? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he deadpans, but the laughter is in his eyes. He chooses to forget for now that there is other, less pleasant differences in his life. “But there is something different about you, too. Are you going to share?” He can feel something, but without prying into her mind (and he would not think to do such a thing), he isn’t sure what it is.
hold me in this wild, wild world
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
BRENNEN