09-25-2018, 12:38 PM
Leilan
a dragon who couldn't be hurt on the outside
could have so many ragged holes inside
could have so many ragged holes inside
She's right - he's in Nerine more often than not, and he always makes sure that the Nerinian queen can find him easily. So whenever she goes looking, she doesn't have to roam through half the kingdom to do so. He looks up, has a smile for her, readily. Though when she tells him he 'must come now' without much else, there's a frown on her back as he follows. That is until she tells him that he has a son, though there's not much else. Clueless as to who has come to the grey cove kingdom's borders, he follows readily, eager to see. Perhaps Jenova had come to pay them a visit? Or (does he dare think it) perhaps there was another, maybe Thal?
The ears that had been pointed forward, however fall flat on his skull as he drops whatever smile, or gleam on his face, he had. Stops dead in his tracks. His voice sounds empty and weird like a faraway echo in his mind, when he asks, "Roseen?" as if perhaps she'll look up and have someone else's face, as if this must be a mistake, she had been pregnant, sure, but - but -
His eyes flicker sideways to Breckin in confusion. There's also another young mare present, not too much younger than Roseen but, he doesn't know her name yet and he doesn't care to ask. She has the Nerinian smell. She might have found Roseen. Called Breckin. Whatever. Doesn't matter. What matters is that this here is Roseen, and that she is nurturing over a colt, bay, but with the same white to his mane as he has himself. Most of all it's clear that his ancestry is of drafts - much unlike an Andalusian - so, maybe, that must mean - it's not - but then -
If all colour could drain from his face, it would do so now. Unfortunately, it only drains from his eyes, leaving all the blue behind to portray a white-grey gleam as he looks at the sooty bay mare. His mind is spinning. This can't be real. There must be a mistake. But it's clear to see there wasn't; even if the baby isn't roan, even if the colt has no gold like his half-brother and -sister (the thought suddenly makes him feel sick, how did he end up with so many bastard babies), that is clearly his and Roseen's child. And slowly, as he looks at the two of them, colour returns, a deep bluish-brownish-inbetween, probably grey with various tints to it, because when the shock ebbs away there is just sadness for Roseen and warmth for the child, mixing and not-mixing and not-settling as if trying to fight over his feelings. "Why..." Why hadn't she told him? Was it meeting Briseis? Something must have happened there, but he can't quite point it out. She could have just told him. Demand he take care of her ánd the child. Easy-peasy. Took about two words, technically three, it's yours, that'd be all that he needed. To not let her walk away that heavy and do all the hard stuff herself. How long had she taken to go from the River to Nerine, those last days?
Focus. There's a baby, and he has ears too. There's time for that question later, and all the emotions attached to the answers. Maybe sometime when he is safely asleep, not wide awake and exploring the faces around him. "Have you named him yet?"
The ears that had been pointed forward, however fall flat on his skull as he drops whatever smile, or gleam on his face, he had. Stops dead in his tracks. His voice sounds empty and weird like a faraway echo in his mind, when he asks, "Roseen?" as if perhaps she'll look up and have someone else's face, as if this must be a mistake, she had been pregnant, sure, but - but -
His eyes flicker sideways to Breckin in confusion. There's also another young mare present, not too much younger than Roseen but, he doesn't know her name yet and he doesn't care to ask. She has the Nerinian smell. She might have found Roseen. Called Breckin. Whatever. Doesn't matter. What matters is that this here is Roseen, and that she is nurturing over a colt, bay, but with the same white to his mane as he has himself. Most of all it's clear that his ancestry is of drafts - much unlike an Andalusian - so, maybe, that must mean - it's not - but then -
If all colour could drain from his face, it would do so now. Unfortunately, it only drains from his eyes, leaving all the blue behind to portray a white-grey gleam as he looks at the sooty bay mare. His mind is spinning. This can't be real. There must be a mistake. But it's clear to see there wasn't; even if the baby isn't roan, even if the colt has no gold like his half-brother and -sister (the thought suddenly makes him feel sick, how did he end up with so many bastard babies), that is clearly his and Roseen's child. And slowly, as he looks at the two of them, colour returns, a deep bluish-brownish-inbetween, probably grey with various tints to it, because when the shock ebbs away there is just sadness for Roseen and warmth for the child, mixing and not-mixing and not-settling as if trying to fight over his feelings. "Why..." Why hadn't she told him? Was it meeting Briseis? Something must have happened there, but he can't quite point it out. She could have just told him. Demand he take care of her ánd the child. Easy-peasy. Took about two words, technically three, it's yours, that'd be all that he needed. To not let her walk away that heavy and do all the hard stuff herself. How long had she taken to go from the River to Nerine, those last days?
Focus. There's a baby, and he has ears too. There's time for that question later, and all the emotions attached to the answers. Maybe sometime when he is safely asleep, not wide awake and exploring the faces around him. "Have you named him yet?"
@[Roseen] @[Nalia] @[Breckin]
-cri- but whyyyy wouldn't you tell me
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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