01-04-2021, 02:16 PM
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Her tender care for him is surprising and confusing in his young mind. He has never been treated this way before — energy spent to keep him alive, a heart that begins to beat solely for him — and her sudden dedication to him brings a soft, hesitant smile to his pale mouth. Targaryen’s mother had abandoned him when he could finally nibble on grass, retreating to an unspoken region of her mind where he could not follow. He knows where to find her, nestled among soil and spiderwebs and overgrown brush, but it has been a long time since he has seen warmth in her strange glowing eyes.
He had lost that warmth along with his mother, but he finds it again in the girl. The way her nose brushes against the sensitive inside of his wings makes him wonder if this is what having a sibling feels like. Would there have been these moments of vulnerability if he knew of his brothers and sisters and if they had been closer in age? Targaryen is confident he has siblings — his mother cared for him as if she has cared for many newborns — but their names and faces are lost to him.
Affection begins to fester within his ribcage, a heat that spreads outward and brightens the soft brown of his eyes. The girl has scared away the isolation that used to cling to his young back, bringing the security of family that he has always longed for. Like Cheri, he cannot deny they must be connected somehow; the awakening of her healing and the coincidence of his clumsiness seem tied by unfathomable forces.
Targaryen almost laughs as she worriedly wonders about his death. He is wise enough to know that Death will come for the mortals, whether they are ready or not. He has found the scattered remains of a child who wandered too far from their mother before, and although his youthful mind can’t wholly understand life and death, Targaryen is mature enough to know that Death has no heart. “No, I won’t die today.”
His brown eyes watch as hers drift to his leg, cleanly sewn together under the moon’s glow. The warmth of her little body keeps the bite of the night out of his bones, even warming the parts of him that had been numbed by the bitterness of the water. She smells sweet and rosy (like an unfamiliar home and the tenderness of youth), and Targaryen’s chest rises as he drinks in her scent. “I’m Targaryen,” he quietly exhales, comforted by her presence and the sense of family he has suddenly felt.
He had lost that warmth along with his mother, but he finds it again in the girl. The way her nose brushes against the sensitive inside of his wings makes him wonder if this is what having a sibling feels like. Would there have been these moments of vulnerability if he knew of his brothers and sisters and if they had been closer in age? Targaryen is confident he has siblings — his mother cared for him as if she has cared for many newborns — but their names and faces are lost to him.
Affection begins to fester within his ribcage, a heat that spreads outward and brightens the soft brown of his eyes. The girl has scared away the isolation that used to cling to his young back, bringing the security of family that he has always longed for. Like Cheri, he cannot deny they must be connected somehow; the awakening of her healing and the coincidence of his clumsiness seem tied by unfathomable forces.
Targaryen almost laughs as she worriedly wonders about his death. He is wise enough to know that Death will come for the mortals, whether they are ready or not. He has found the scattered remains of a child who wandered too far from their mother before, and although his youthful mind can’t wholly understand life and death, Targaryen is mature enough to know that Death has no heart. “No, I won’t die today.”
His brown eyes watch as hers drift to his leg, cleanly sewn together under the moon’s glow. The warmth of her little body keeps the bite of the night out of his bones, even warming the parts of him that had been numbed by the bitterness of the water. She smells sweet and rosy (like an unfamiliar home and the tenderness of youth), and Targaryen’s chest rises as he drinks in her scent. “I’m Targaryen,” he quietly exhales, comforted by her presence and the sense of family he has suddenly felt.
@[Cheri]