09-18-2016, 11:28 AM
± swallow my doubt turn it inside out ±
His absence has an impact far larger than he had anticipated, he’d not even known he’d been missed. Hell, he doesn't even know how long he's been gone but it feels like a lifetime through their eyes. Each facet of emerald set against rich indigo bleeds pain, love, uncertainty. A myriad of emotions and he can not tell which is true nor which is warranted by this chance gathering. The wind coils his tangled locks around his neck, splaying stray strands of curled ebony to tickle at the two women gathered.
Then she stabs him and he doesn’t even know why the blade is so sharp.My girl, my alight Mine, mine, mine. Hers, only hers. Once he would have angered at such possession, snorted and tossed his head at the audacity with which she snatched the girl away. If he were the owner of his past he would have flared his nostrils at this, had he not raised the girl as his own? Been there for each dawn and dusk, tended to scrapes and bumps? He’d loved her like his own flesh and blood and still she was herded from him like he was the monster that helped form her. Oh, if only he’d know this, if only he remembered.
Still, the pain seeps through his veins, tightens around his heart and he can not hide the glare that leaps to his eyes for one fleeting moment.
Giver she says and silvered gold washes into shape against his memory. His weight shifts as he regards them, both curled into each other and he wishes to snake himself between them but he can’t. He doesn’t. You should know my face, she chides and two earthy ears splay out flat on top of his head. He feels like a child, new to the world, with eyes unseeing and mind empty and without lesson. Frustration is the word that tumbles to the forefront and he huffs, searching the ground for answers that won’t likely scrawl themselves in the dirt. She’s his, is she? The scent of barnyard and musk filtering through his nose and yet there is nothing to allow such a smell to be present. There hasn’t been such a stench for some time in these parts yet it finds him anyways, another thing to taunt him.
You’re all of ours, the young one relents and hot air releases into the chill of winter. Are they sure they had the right man? “How can you be sure?” he wonders and he hasn’t meant to say it out loud, raising his head to look the woman in the eye but she’s turned away from him. “How do you know me so well when I don’t even know who I am?” And it hurts, burns each time he tries to coax the truth from behind closed doors, he winces shaking his head side to side. “Can I come with you then, while I try to know? Is there room for me where you stay?” Is there room, as if he’s far too big a burden to make space for. Can I, may I, as if he must ask permission to follow. Killdare had rarely ever asked permission in his life, he was so different now...
Then she stabs him and he doesn’t even know why the blade is so sharp.My girl, my alight Mine, mine, mine. Hers, only hers. Once he would have angered at such possession, snorted and tossed his head at the audacity with which she snatched the girl away. If he were the owner of his past he would have flared his nostrils at this, had he not raised the girl as his own? Been there for each dawn and dusk, tended to scrapes and bumps? He’d loved her like his own flesh and blood and still she was herded from him like he was the monster that helped form her. Oh, if only he’d know this, if only he remembered.
Still, the pain seeps through his veins, tightens around his heart and he can not hide the glare that leaps to his eyes for one fleeting moment.
Giver she says and silvered gold washes into shape against his memory. His weight shifts as he regards them, both curled into each other and he wishes to snake himself between them but he can’t. He doesn’t. You should know my face, she chides and two earthy ears splay out flat on top of his head. He feels like a child, new to the world, with eyes unseeing and mind empty and without lesson. Frustration is the word that tumbles to the forefront and he huffs, searching the ground for answers that won’t likely scrawl themselves in the dirt. She’s his, is she? The scent of barnyard and musk filtering through his nose and yet there is nothing to allow such a smell to be present. There hasn’t been such a stench for some time in these parts yet it finds him anyways, another thing to taunt him.
You’re all of ours, the young one relents and hot air releases into the chill of winter. Are they sure they had the right man? “How can you be sure?” he wonders and he hasn’t meant to say it out loud, raising his head to look the woman in the eye but she’s turned away from him. “How do you know me so well when I don’t even know who I am?” And it hurts, burns each time he tries to coax the truth from behind closed doors, he winces shaking his head side to side. “Can I come with you then, while I try to know? Is there room for me where you stay?” Is there room, as if he’s far too big a burden to make space for. Can I, may I, as if he must ask permission to follow. Killdare had rarely ever asked permission in his life, he was so different now...
KILLDARE
spin around to a beautiful oblivion