“Who?” Lilin looks at him, what skepticism he cannot see is heavy in her voice. (Woven and Rake exchange curious looks, but remain silent.)
“His name is Kirin. He’s… related to Killdare. You remember him?”
“...sort of...” Lilin had been there, still wet and wobbly, when mother had presented the eyeless wonder for Killdare to gawk at. Lilin had remained tucked into the warmth of mother’s groin, hiding from those big, leathery wings. Ribcage had not let her come with him after the war to see Killdare as a king; soon thereafter, Ribcage had sequestered them all in a dank cave and paced after ghosts…
“Well. He has a home. Or… he has his eyes on one.” Ribcage stills, dropping his great, square head, breathing deeply, “the weight of looking after you is heavy. We need to go where there is an army to stand between us and the world, at least… for now.”
She knows what he means—what he pines for and how it feels for him to be without. “Okay, Rib. I trust you.”
He leads the way, lifting his cruel head high and lipping the air. At his flank, his younger brother and sister look anemic and puny, like two flowers who have grown inside the shaded mouth of a cave—because they had—squinting away from the sun and ticking together, hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder, their ears tucked back and their faces taut and harried looking. Lilin is bright, blue and beautiful, though she too has wilted somewhat in the recluse.
Ribcage is strong and brutish looking, unkempt and muscular. A far cry from the boy he had been, once, but every bit as tormented—by the heft of his sibling’s safety held across his broad shoulders; by the absence of his eyes and exotic pelt; by the acrid scent of smoke and fear, and the taste of equine blood on his lips.
Kirin’s appearance had been something of a godsend.
It would be up to Lilin to ferret out all of the little things that Ribcage had not seen or felt.
“Can you swim?” she looks at him with furrowed brow, touching the twitching muscles of his shoulder. “I mean… safely?”
“If you can keep me safe.”
This makes her smile and she motions across the wide channel to the distant island beyond. Rake and Woven quiver as they dip their bellies in, looking at her with big eyes. She keeps them straight and afloat, because of course she does, though by the end she hauls herself onto the white sand breathlessly. “That will be much easier… soon.” He nods and sends his nose high into the air again, searching for that single, carnal, fleshy scent. He finds it, nestled deep in a mound of meaty smells that he halts him and his family at the edge of.
Lilin watches with wary eyes and Ribcage twists his head around, catching Vidas words.
They do not move him. He’d tear the world down to cloak his family, dismantling their island was nothing.
“His name is Kirin. He’s… related to Killdare. You remember him?”
“...sort of...” Lilin had been there, still wet and wobbly, when mother had presented the eyeless wonder for Killdare to gawk at. Lilin had remained tucked into the warmth of mother’s groin, hiding from those big, leathery wings. Ribcage had not let her come with him after the war to see Killdare as a king; soon thereafter, Ribcage had sequestered them all in a dank cave and paced after ghosts…
“Well. He has a home. Or… he has his eyes on one.” Ribcage stills, dropping his great, square head, breathing deeply, “the weight of looking after you is heavy. We need to go where there is an army to stand between us and the world, at least… for now.”
She knows what he means—what he pines for and how it feels for him to be without. “Okay, Rib. I trust you.”
He leads the way, lifting his cruel head high and lipping the air. At his flank, his younger brother and sister look anemic and puny, like two flowers who have grown inside the shaded mouth of a cave—because they had—squinting away from the sun and ticking together, hip-to-hip and shoulder-to-shoulder, their ears tucked back and their faces taut and harried looking. Lilin is bright, blue and beautiful, though she too has wilted somewhat in the recluse.
Ribcage is strong and brutish looking, unkempt and muscular. A far cry from the boy he had been, once, but every bit as tormented—by the heft of his sibling’s safety held across his broad shoulders; by the absence of his eyes and exotic pelt; by the acrid scent of smoke and fear, and the taste of equine blood on his lips.
Kirin’s appearance had been something of a godsend.
It would be up to Lilin to ferret out all of the little things that Ribcage had not seen or felt.
“Can you swim?” she looks at him with furrowed brow, touching the twitching muscles of his shoulder. “I mean… safely?”
“If you can keep me safe.”
This makes her smile and she motions across the wide channel to the distant island beyond. Rake and Woven quiver as they dip their bellies in, looking at her with big eyes. She keeps them straight and afloat, because of course she does, though by the end she hauls herself onto the white sand breathlessly. “That will be much easier… soon.” He nods and sends his nose high into the air again, searching for that single, carnal, fleshy scent. He finds it, nestled deep in a mound of meaty smells that he halts him and his family at the edge of.
Lilin watches with wary eyes and Ribcage twists his head around, catching Vidas words.
They do not move him. He’d tear the world down to cloak his family, dismantling their island was nothing.
misery loves company and madness calls it forth
![[Image: sAxX94g.png]](http://i.imgur.com/sAxX94g.png)