10-21-2018, 02:52 PM
“For a while,” I promise, but already the idea of a few moments of rest is seeping in. Every tiny bit of me is humming in satisfaction and I contemplate never doing anything else ever again. I open my eyes at last, and the dawn light is surprisingly bright. How long had we been caught up, ignorant of anything but the other? The idea is exhilarating, but it occurs to me that anyone might have seen us. Though I am not ashamed of my actions; I know our time is limited before the real world begins to seep in again.
The westernmost wall of the cave mouth is bathed in sunlight coming up from the east. It strikes some of my most prized finds on a ledge near the rim, a dozen or so split geodes that reflect the light in hundreds of tiny pieces like dawn stars. ‘Time to go back to Sylva’, those stars say, you’ll get there in time to greet the autumn kingdom as the rest of them are rising. For the better part of six months I have followed this schedule, passing my afternoons and nights in Loess, returning to Sylva to show my face in the mornings.
The idea of not going back has always been tempting, but I have never dared.
My hus- no. Arthas. The bonds that had seemed unshakeable are suddenly no more than dust. Arthas will be desolate. I know this, and for an instant Wolfbane’s warm breath on my tender flesh is more bitter than sweet.
I don’t want to think about that. It is sad.
So I don’t, and I project contentment instead.
Much better.
Stablized in the space of a heartbeat, I stretch out my long wings, brushing the cold stone of the cavern floor with the ends. A bit of winter chill slides up my sides where the downy shields had been protecting me, but the sense of relaxation that has begin to slip over me is worth a bit of cold. I am exposed, the long bones of my slender wings within easy reach, but I am not afraid. The yellow and blue stallion behind me is the only creature I trust so implicitly, he who had seen my freshly broken wing.
I wonder, for the first time, if he knows the story behind it.
Sad again.
Wary of using too much emotion, I instead choose another form of distraction. I take a step toward him, so the back of my thigh presses against his sweat damp skin. I disguise this with an exaggerated show of scratching at an itch with an opposite foot. There is no denying the wantoness in my actions, no mistaking the need in my eyes.
“I could stay a while,” I tell him from below thick lashes, my voice gone somehow husky “I’ll be staying forever soon enough anyway.” It’s easier to focus on the here and now.
@[Wolfbane]
The westernmost wall of the cave mouth is bathed in sunlight coming up from the east. It strikes some of my most prized finds on a ledge near the rim, a dozen or so split geodes that reflect the light in hundreds of tiny pieces like dawn stars. ‘Time to go back to Sylva’, those stars say, you’ll get there in time to greet the autumn kingdom as the rest of them are rising. For the better part of six months I have followed this schedule, passing my afternoons and nights in Loess, returning to Sylva to show my face in the mornings.
The idea of not going back has always been tempting, but I have never dared.
My hus- no. Arthas. The bonds that had seemed unshakeable are suddenly no more than dust. Arthas will be desolate. I know this, and for an instant Wolfbane’s warm breath on my tender flesh is more bitter than sweet.
I don’t want to think about that. It is sad.
So I don’t, and I project contentment instead.
Much better.
Stablized in the space of a heartbeat, I stretch out my long wings, brushing the cold stone of the cavern floor with the ends. A bit of winter chill slides up my sides where the downy shields had been protecting me, but the sense of relaxation that has begin to slip over me is worth a bit of cold. I am exposed, the long bones of my slender wings within easy reach, but I am not afraid. The yellow and blue stallion behind me is the only creature I trust so implicitly, he who had seen my freshly broken wing.
I wonder, for the first time, if he knows the story behind it.
Sad again.
Wary of using too much emotion, I instead choose another form of distraction. I take a step toward him, so the back of my thigh presses against his sweat damp skin. I disguise this with an exaggerated show of scratching at an itch with an opposite foot. There is no denying the wantoness in my actions, no mistaking the need in my eyes.
“I could stay a while,” I tell him from below thick lashes, my voice gone somehow husky “I’ll be staying forever soon enough anyway.” It’s easier to focus on the here and now.
@[Wolfbane]
