12-20-2019, 12:51 AM
risk
He does not know his mothers, but he has inherited their voices. He has the same way of getting louder when the world would have him quiet, the same preference to challenge a fate that is not kind to him. When she doesn’t seem to care enough to even try and recall whether she ate him once, he grits his teeth and steps closer as ancient rage finds a home in him. His heart emulates forgotten war drums and he wants to catch her between his jaws, to bash her against the rocks like a dog who has finally caught his rabbit.
But he only bites his anger back. What if this wrath is not meant for her?
He swallows hard and inspects her a little closer now. The thing that took his life did not wear stripes or orange fur, he remembers. That hunter was the color of golden sands. A disappointed sigh slips from him as he takes a step back. The scales and the fangs recede beneath his skin, replaced with the brilliant copper marbling over his black coat. They are almost opposites, in this way. But his eyes remain different colors as he brings his attention back to her once more.
“You are not my enemy, only similar,” he confesses at last. And even if she were, what would killing her bring him? Kelynen and Kensa are long gone either way with no trace of them to be found. His blue and green eyes turn to watch the forest for a while as he considers his options and shifts his weight uneasily. With no place to return home to and no friends to seek out, he finds himself entirely lost in this world.
“My name is Risk. Death has no interest in me, for whatever reason,” he explains with a shrug of his shoulders. “When I returned to life, my family was gone and my home was empty. I am alone.”
While the words should carry some of the ache he feels when he says them, they only convey his anger instead. He is intent not to punish those who’ve committed no crimes against him in his journey for vengeance, though, meaning Sochi is only displeasing to him at best.
But he only bites his anger back. What if this wrath is not meant for her?
He swallows hard and inspects her a little closer now. The thing that took his life did not wear stripes or orange fur, he remembers. That hunter was the color of golden sands. A disappointed sigh slips from him as he takes a step back. The scales and the fangs recede beneath his skin, replaced with the brilliant copper marbling over his black coat. They are almost opposites, in this way. But his eyes remain different colors as he brings his attention back to her once more.
“You are not my enemy, only similar,” he confesses at last. And even if she were, what would killing her bring him? Kelynen and Kensa are long gone either way with no trace of them to be found. His blue and green eyes turn to watch the forest for a while as he considers his options and shifts his weight uneasily. With no place to return home to and no friends to seek out, he finds himself entirely lost in this world.
“My name is Risk. Death has no interest in me, for whatever reason,” he explains with a shrug of his shoulders. “When I returned to life, my family was gone and my home was empty. I am alone.”
While the words should carry some of the ache he feels when he says them, they only convey his anger instead. He is intent not to punish those who’ve committed no crimes against him in his journey for vengeance, though, meaning Sochi is only displeasing to him at best.