04-25-2018, 10:53 PM
my words are unerring tools of destruction
The sounds of Tephra’s night used to be soothing. When he was a rescued waif, the songs of the Kingdom at night had gone hand-in-hand with curling up somewhere between or beside his adoptive parents and Valensia and drifting off to sleep in a pile of warm bodies and feathered wings. Lately, though, his nights are conflicted. Tephra is a close to his heart as his little found-family, but as his adoptive father’s temper grows shorter, he can feel his attachment to the Kingdom fraying along with their relationship. So tonight, he’s restless, awake, and wandering the Kingdom, looking for reasons to love it anyway.
Something sends him towards the ocean shore, and he follows the instinct. He has nothing to lose, he’s not going to sleep tonight anyway. The rocky shores are not unfamiliar, but it’s not a place he’s spent an extraordinary amount of his time. He’s a winged being, after all, with little interest in swimming, and the ocean holds no adventure for him like the mountains and the plains. He can, vaguely, acknowledge the beauty of the night sky reflecting on the ocean, and briefly he stops to smile and reminisce about sneaking down here at night with Val because she was convinced there might be sea nymphs who only came out at night.
There’s a noise up the beach, and he raises his head out of his own thoughts to look at the mare he recognizes but doesn’t know personally. He was a late-blooming child, uninvolved as of yet in anything official or political, but in contrast he knows dark-colored Wound is heart and soul to the Kingdom and its King. He meanders in her direction, trusting to the sound of displaced rocks and pebbles and shells to announce his presence and saying absolutely nothing, just offering a smile that is simultaneously bold and shy.
Something sends him towards the ocean shore, and he follows the instinct. He has nothing to lose, he’s not going to sleep tonight anyway. The rocky shores are not unfamiliar, but it’s not a place he’s spent an extraordinary amount of his time. He’s a winged being, after all, with little interest in swimming, and the ocean holds no adventure for him like the mountains and the plains. He can, vaguely, acknowledge the beauty of the night sky reflecting on the ocean, and briefly he stops to smile and reminisce about sneaking down here at night with Val because she was convinced there might be sea nymphs who only came out at night.
There’s a noise up the beach, and he raises his head out of his own thoughts to look at the mare he recognizes but doesn’t know personally. He was a late-blooming child, uninvolved as of yet in anything official or political, but in contrast he knows dark-colored Wound is heart and soul to the Kingdom and its King. He meanders in her direction, trusting to the sound of displaced rocks and pebbles and shells to announce his presence and saying absolutely nothing, just offering a smile that is simultaneously bold and shy.
gansey
and I've become unequipped with the ability to disarm them