04-20-2021, 07:46 PM
Savior
He understands, certainly. He has seen many places and none have ever felt safer than the jungles of Tephra. (There is a sense of security here that exists entirely separate from the magic that tethers him to it, he knows.) He nods, smiles, casts a glance around this impenetrable darkness but he does not need the help of the lantern-bird or the draconic vision to see because he knows every inch of this jungle intimately. He could navigate it in his sleep.
He draws his focus back to her face, cast into sharp relief by the soft light glowing overhead, at the sound of her question. There is no judgment in it and her smile is kind. “When Tephra was attacked by dragons, my parents thought the best way to protect it was with a dragon force of their own. So, they crafted my twin sister and I out of my mother’s plants,” he explains. Perhaps it is a strange thing to understand that there is a specific purpose for one’s existence, but it is something he has always understood.
He was born a protector. First of Tephra, then of Casimira, now of their children. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.
It is not lost on him, the way she pauses, and there is some part of him that worries that he’s asked the wrong thing. He is on the verge of apologizing, insisting that she need not answer if she’s not comfortable, when she begins to speak and he closes his mouth up tight. He watches her intently, head tilted slightly as he listens closely to the information she offers.
His heart soars when she mentions her children and then plummets when she speaks of her drowning. He swallows thickly, concern darkening his brow as she continues. He knows there is nothing he can say to offer her any comfort, so he merely draws in a long breath and eventually nods. “You are an inspiration, Wishbone,” he tells her, “to have brought yourself back from death the way you did.”
He thinks of Casimira and what she went through.
“It takes a long of strength to do what you did.”
He draws his focus back to her face, cast into sharp relief by the soft light glowing overhead, at the sound of her question. There is no judgment in it and her smile is kind. “When Tephra was attacked by dragons, my parents thought the best way to protect it was with a dragon force of their own. So, they crafted my twin sister and I out of my mother’s plants,” he explains. Perhaps it is a strange thing to understand that there is a specific purpose for one’s existence, but it is something he has always understood.
He was born a protector. First of Tephra, then of Casimira, now of their children. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.
It is not lost on him, the way she pauses, and there is some part of him that worries that he’s asked the wrong thing. He is on the verge of apologizing, insisting that she need not answer if she’s not comfortable, when she begins to speak and he closes his mouth up tight. He watches her intently, head tilted slightly as he listens closely to the information she offers.
His heart soars when she mentions her children and then plummets when she speaks of her drowning. He swallows thickly, concern darkening his brow as she continues. He knows there is nothing he can say to offer her any comfort, so he merely draws in a long breath and eventually nods. “You are an inspiration, Wishbone,” he tells her, “to have brought yourself back from death the way you did.”
He thinks of Casimira and what she went through.
“It takes a long of strength to do what you did.”
YOU REMIND ME WHO I WAS AND WHO I WANT TO BE
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
@[Wishbone]