they are wicked things, dovev

[despair]

i could dig myself out of the loneliest of graves for you, could be taken down like a dog that got itself a mouthful of blood and liked the taste, could give myself up belly-up. crane toward you like a heliotrope in the sun.

He tilts his head like a little puppy when Dovev denies his paternity, and the wheels are turning in his head as he tries to make sense of it. Why else would he smell like Mama, then? Perhaps the fact that this is his father is a secret of some sort. Yes, that has to be it, since this other stranger also smells like Shiya in the morning and looks vaguely like her. It’s his duty to help his father keep this secret, then. Mama had told him to avoid his father, after all, if he ever met him. Despair begins to slowly nod with a knowing, mischievous smile as he reaches this conclusion.

“Riiight, you’re not my dad. We’re just really good friends,” he says, little pointed teeth all gleaming in his sneaky grin. When he asks his name, though, he remembers what Shiya said the day he was born. “Mama says I’m her Despair!”

And the expression just keeps on shining from his little dark face, proud to be called hers even though he still doesn’t quite know what his name means. His bright green eyes travel to the red woman then, examining her face curiously as he looked over her scales and her teeth. She looks like his mother but a little different, and not just because of her age either. He blinks slowly as he tries to make sense of it but the puzzle pieces just don’t quite snap into place for him. Perhaps this was Mama’s sister?

But then she speaks and his ears perk up, delighted that she agrees they look alike. His legs tap in place again and he spins in a tight circle as he laughs joyfully. How wonderful to meet someone so similar to him! Perhaps they could be good friends then.

“You look like Mama, but you’re not white,” he says as he bumps his nose into her shoulder, testing the texture of her scales against his skin. Yes, she is just like his mother somehow, which brings him a strange sort of comfort. Despair wastes no time as skitters around behind them and then squeezes in between, his shoulders pressed to each of theirs. “What are your names?”

He keeps his chin lifted to stare up at them, hope and wonder glimmering in his kind eyes as he watches them. The armor along Dovev’s shoulder isn’t soft and warm in the way that Adna’s is, but the bone makes him feel safe and protected somehow.

here is the field in my heart that bears your name. here is the whole country, aching and tender,
i named after you. here is my whole entire heart.

@[Dovev]