Elio’s birth had been peaceful. Just a glimmer of golden sun and the soft welcoming of vibrant sprouts and fallen leaves. He remembers the scent of pine needles as it sat upon the edges of his nostrils, and he remembers the warm side of his mother. Lepis. Yes, he remembers her, the harsh face that only looked upon him with love . . . he remembers.
All Elio has ever known is his mother and his many siblings. There was no father, but he did not feel particular strife over it, considering his family filled him with enough love to wash the entirety of Taiga in a healthy, golden glow. He remembers each of their faces, though the existence of his vision-taking sister eludes him. Still, he knows in his childish innocence that he will appreciate and love her, one day—or she’ll live forever unknown, a missing point of stability for Elio to settle in.
Celina keeps him busy with her roughhousing, and he loves it (he probably loves this sister the best, though he will never admit such a thing to himself). It is only when he hears the faint murmur of his mother and the baritone of a stranger that he pulls away from his laughing sister to stare intently in the direction of the noisy undulations. He begins a clumsy canter toward Lepis, forgetting the play of his sister almost entirely in the haze this first feeling of dread leaves over his eyes.
They face off, the two of them, and Elio is just perceptive enough to notice a certain tension. He pauses, hovering behind a tree, but his gangly months old legs betray him: he stumbles from behind the trunk to find a man with the exact markings as he.
“Uh, sorry, Mom,” he sputters, wide and stone-colored eyes settling on near-bristling man before her. He goes to stand next to her, wary of Wolfbane and protective of Lepis.
@[Wolfbane] @[Lepis]
All Elio has ever known is his mother and his many siblings. There was no father, but he did not feel particular strife over it, considering his family filled him with enough love to wash the entirety of Taiga in a healthy, golden glow. He remembers each of their faces, though the existence of his vision-taking sister eludes him. Still, he knows in his childish innocence that he will appreciate and love her, one day—or she’ll live forever unknown, a missing point of stability for Elio to settle in.
Celina keeps him busy with her roughhousing, and he loves it (he probably loves this sister the best, though he will never admit such a thing to himself). It is only when he hears the faint murmur of his mother and the baritone of a stranger that he pulls away from his laughing sister to stare intently in the direction of the noisy undulations. He begins a clumsy canter toward Lepis, forgetting the play of his sister almost entirely in the haze this first feeling of dread leaves over his eyes.
They face off, the two of them, and Elio is just perceptive enough to notice a certain tension. He pauses, hovering behind a tree, but his gangly months old legs betray him: he stumbles from behind the trunk to find a man with the exact markings as he.
“Uh, sorry, Mom,” he sputters, wide and stone-colored eyes settling on near-bristling man before her. He goes to stand next to her, wary of Wolfbane and protective of Lepis.
@[Wolfbane] @[Lepis]