12-24-2019, 12:03 AM
What Litotes wants to do is tell this timid creature how he can never be afraid of her. Not because she is frightened or sweet, but because he sees the imprint of her mother’s memories. He sees the first moment they laid eyes on each other reflecting in the moonsilver of Lilt’s eyes. His heart does not swell, but it does race—and the lion cannot comprehend the uniquely magical and self-aware phenomenon.
The flinching he did when the boulder first exploded is nothing compared to the fierce sense of loyalty blossoming in his heart.
Lilt trembles and Lie lifts his legs in a jolting stance of attention. He huffs and twitches his nose against the cool breeze before stepping quietly in the pegasus’ direction. All he knows is that her body language indicates distress and he now needs to battle with whatever threatens her. It does not occur to him that he is the one frightening her, or that she has frightened herself; instead he only draws closer, uninhibited by the second-thoughts of the man he was over a year ago.
The black and gemstone fur of Lilt’s two front legs is what Litotes touches first. He draws in the autumn scent she emanates and then gently rubs his maned head against the skin he just nuzzled. Small, pleased chuffs are the only noises he makes—leaned against her as if her long limbs are not so fragile compared with his lion’s frame.
The flinching he did when the boulder first exploded is nothing compared to the fierce sense of loyalty blossoming in his heart.
Lilt trembles and Lie lifts his legs in a jolting stance of attention. He huffs and twitches his nose against the cool breeze before stepping quietly in the pegasus’ direction. All he knows is that her body language indicates distress and he now needs to battle with whatever threatens her. It does not occur to him that he is the one frightening her, or that she has frightened herself; instead he only draws closer, uninhibited by the second-thoughts of the man he was over a year ago.
The black and gemstone fur of Lilt’s two front legs is what Litotes touches first. He draws in the autumn scent she emanates and then gently rubs his maned head against the skin he just nuzzled. Small, pleased chuffs are the only noises he makes—leaned against her as if her long limbs are not so fragile compared with his lion’s frame.
