02-25-2017, 03:42 AM
our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
It was a strange sensation to feel the stirring of life in her belly, even early on now, when her sides have not swelled and grown heavy with child. Still, she can feel it within her, this sapling, this reminder of Rodrik and the dark and wild thing that grows between them. She cherishes it, as much as she has ever cherished anything, and while she struggles to articulate those words, she stays awake at night, thinking of the strange turn of events that has led her here, in this new Beqanna with the red stallion curled next to her at night. Both of their kingdoms gone and instead, the two of them deposited in this new wasteland.
She cannot say that she cares for it.
It does not have the rich lushness of the Jungle, the humid air, the plants that bloom with vibrant colors and the wild cries of animals. This land—this one is barren and empty, a dustbowl of a kingdom. Still, she doesn’t complain about the dust that gathers in her lungs and her contempt for the wasteland. It was worth it to remain by Rodrik’s side. So it is not surprising that she is not far when he calls for her, that she was anchored to him and wandering only a bit away when she heard his call. There was nothing else to do.
She does not rush to him, but neither does she waste time, instead walking slowly and cautiously, finding her step amongst the crushed rock and lifeless vegetation. When she reaches his side, her scarred lips brush over the elegant curve of his muscled neck, the motion still new, despite how natural it felt. “Rodrik,” she greets, her voice still soft and deep, feminine and yet husky. “Did you need something?”
Not that he needed an excuse to see her, but still—she was once a soldier and once a Queen and while she doesn’t begrudge being called to him, old habits die hard.