03-01-2021, 03:02 PM
. |
. |
. |
With a mother who preferred a quiet forest over the soft face of her child, Targaryen had found independence too quickly. He had grown up in the name of survival, and he had painted his face in colors of faux-bravery so he could continue to find his way in the world. Yet surviving had stripped him of the softer things in life; he had lost the comfort of a mother’s touch, and the warmth of a sibling’s sleeping body, and the joy of playing with friends.
“The Heart of Taiga. That sounds mysterious.” He narrowly dodges Cheri’s playful attack, overcompensating and losing his balance. Flaring out his wings is the only thing that saves Targaryen from toppling over sideways, and he prays that Cheri didn’t see his clumsiness to whatever gods might be listening. When they had first met, the gash in his leg had awakened something within Cheri, and unbeknownst to either of them, Cheri has sparked something inside Targaryen.
Her playfulness overcomes the embarrassment souring in his stomach. Targaryen jumps forward, making up the distance between them, and he aims a nip at her ears as he comes along her side. The boy’s mouth pulls into a smile at Cheri’s nickname. He knows his name is long, but he hadn’t expected anyone to give him a shorter version. It is yet another thing that binds them together.
Favorite places? The smile quickly falls from his face at the idea that he might have a favorite place to spend his time. Home has always felt like a daydream. A place that makes him feel comfortable and warm has felt more like a myth than reality. Targaryen has places he knows — the best patch of grazing in the Meadow, the river-bend where he learned to fly, the secluded corner of the forest where his mother is — but he can hardly consider them favorites.
Targaryen’s soft eyes shift away from Cheri’s face. His chest tightens at the thought of ruining Cheri’s excitement with his depressing life. The truth of the matter is that his favorite place is really just one, and it is where they had first met. But can he say that yet? He isn’t sure if he will scare her away with his honesty. She has made an impression on him beyond words, and Targaryen is scared that admitting it aloud will undo the knots of their friendship.
He settles for a half-truth. “I’ve always enjoyed the River. I learned to fly there, and the water feels good in the summer.” Targaryen returns his gaze to her dark face, and he is about to ask about the places she has been to outside Taiga when a stick manages to place itself right in his path. Cheri’s face tilts, all he sees are shadows, and there’s a thump as he lands solidly on his left side.
“The Heart of Taiga. That sounds mysterious.” He narrowly dodges Cheri’s playful attack, overcompensating and losing his balance. Flaring out his wings is the only thing that saves Targaryen from toppling over sideways, and he prays that Cheri didn’t see his clumsiness to whatever gods might be listening. When they had first met, the gash in his leg had awakened something within Cheri, and unbeknownst to either of them, Cheri has sparked something inside Targaryen.
Her playfulness overcomes the embarrassment souring in his stomach. Targaryen jumps forward, making up the distance between them, and he aims a nip at her ears as he comes along her side. The boy’s mouth pulls into a smile at Cheri’s nickname. He knows his name is long, but he hadn’t expected anyone to give him a shorter version. It is yet another thing that binds them together.
Favorite places? The smile quickly falls from his face at the idea that he might have a favorite place to spend his time. Home has always felt like a daydream. A place that makes him feel comfortable and warm has felt more like a myth than reality. Targaryen has places he knows — the best patch of grazing in the Meadow, the river-bend where he learned to fly, the secluded corner of the forest where his mother is — but he can hardly consider them favorites.
Targaryen’s soft eyes shift away from Cheri’s face. His chest tightens at the thought of ruining Cheri’s excitement with his depressing life. The truth of the matter is that his favorite place is really just one, and it is where they had first met. But can he say that yet? He isn’t sure if he will scare her away with his honesty. She has made an impression on him beyond words, and Targaryen is scared that admitting it aloud will undo the knots of their friendship.
He settles for a half-truth. “I’ve always enjoyed the River. I learned to fly there, and the water feels good in the summer.” Targaryen returns his gaze to her dark face, and he is about to ask about the places she has been to outside Taiga when a stick manages to place itself right in his path. Cheri’s face tilts, all he sees are shadows, and there’s a thump as he lands solidly on his left side.
@[Cheri]