11-21-2019, 10:58 PM
elio
gone was the way we were, just like the days we'd burn
Elio could wait for ages—no, eons—for the validation of his father. He could spend years feeling wistful over not searching for Wolfbane the moment he was born, or not trying hard enough to be a better son, or . . . Lepis’ peace reaches him, and his mind quiets. The softest, most relaxed sigh escapes his lips. Elio’s golden fur and crimson ears ruffle against the warm surety of his mother’s chest. He looks the perfect picture of a perfect son.
When she mentions Loess, Elio imagines the cacti that dot the border it shares with Taiga. He can see the gray boulders and hardy greenery. It is a border he does not cross (because at his core he is an obedient boy), but one he toes often. Mother always makes it sound so enticing; it is hard for a growing child to not be curious. The striped yearling prickles with the idea of change, of leaving behind the home a family he does not feel he fully belongs to has claimed as their own.
And yet, the fires of rebellion surge in his veins: he the green soldier with armor that does not fit and a sword too heavy to swing.
“But isn’t this where Dad lives?” He means to remain casual, to speak as if he does not know what is coming; but that crippling insecurity creeps into his voice, and it is clear he is only asking to hear what he already knows out loud. “I don’t think I . . . I don’t know, Mom. Why? Do you want to go?”
A single hoof digs into the pliable soil and prickly pine needles. Elio leans away from Lepis and bites his lip.
“It would be cool to go somewhere new, I guess.” This he concedes with a shrug of his shoulders and a barely visible smile.
When she mentions Loess, Elio imagines the cacti that dot the border it shares with Taiga. He can see the gray boulders and hardy greenery. It is a border he does not cross (because at his core he is an obedient boy), but one he toes often. Mother always makes it sound so enticing; it is hard for a growing child to not be curious. The striped yearling prickles with the idea of change, of leaving behind the home a family he does not feel he fully belongs to has claimed as their own.
And yet, the fires of rebellion surge in his veins: he the green soldier with armor that does not fit and a sword too heavy to swing.
“But isn’t this where Dad lives?” He means to remain casual, to speak as if he does not know what is coming; but that crippling insecurity creeps into his voice, and it is clear he is only asking to hear what he already knows out loud. “I don’t think I . . . I don’t know, Mom. Why? Do you want to go?”
A single hoof digs into the pliable soil and prickly pine needles. Elio leans away from Lepis and bites his lip.
“It would be cool to go somewhere new, I guess.” This he concedes with a shrug of his shoulders and a barely visible smile.
@[Lepis]