05-26-2019, 12:44 PM
Ophanim
It hurts to move or breathe. His tongue is coated in the copper tang of his own blood and he wishes he could speak to tell Starsin that everything will be fine. The memory of teeth sinking into his tattered wing is fresh and he nearly vomits at the sound of his bones crunching in Casimira’s jaws. Yet the sound plays on repeat in his mind until he’s certain he’ll be driven mad by it. But he does his best not to show the fear and the agony on his face so as not to worry his beloved wife. If it is his time, then let it be peaceful and easy for her, he thinks with a faint smile.
But she will not let him go softly into this fiery night. He drags his wing with its missing feathers and keeps his head hung low so as not to use any of the muscles in it. His bright blue eyes just follow her as he tries to remember whether he actually saw Kensa or if it was a fever dream given to him by the pain. Ophanim thinks of how kind she must be to worry over him when their lives are all at stake.
Now in Loess, the world is familiar at the very least and he even manages a blood-stained smile when she finds him again. He closes his eyes and tries not to sleep as he lays in the dry grasses of his home. Occasionally he rouses enough energy to open his bright blue eyes again, and at one point he thinks he might’ve seen his mother watching him from afar. She never did well with blood. He says nothing when Starsin returns with Cress, though, and he remains silent as they speak. Ophie can’t help but give a short laugh when she explains how bad his injuries are, and the sound summons a new wave of pain across his throat and jaw.
He sucks in a breath that hisses between his teeth when she touches him but he’s too weak to pull away or fight it. Instead he only clenches his teeth and tries to be calm while she weaves him back together, piece by piece. Somehow, her healing his wing feels worse and he cries out when the bones snap back into their proper place. His legs squirm beneath the torment and he has to fight himself to not flap his wings as she rebuilds them. Luckily he manages to remain still enough, and he’s relieved when she lifts her head to say she is finished. The angel boy remains on the ground, gasping for breath as his body finally begins to relax again.
Malone comes crashing through the grasses and shrubs toward them, his clumsy legs collapsing as he drops down next to his father. The gold and white sire smiles weakly as the boy nestles his face into Ophanim’s shoulder and cries.
“I’m fine, Malone. This is all other people’s blood,” he lies as he tries to lift his head and look at his child. “I just flew in from Tephra, and boy are my wings tired.” He laughs and this time the sound isn’t caked in dried blood or framed in agony. The black and gold child keeps his face tucked into Ophanim’s side for a few moments longer before finally lifting his face, tear-stained and terrified, to look at Cress.
“Thank you,” he says softly, black and blue eyes dewy and misty from his weeping. His own tiny wings hang limp with worry across his sides as he looks to his mother, his rock in all this chaos.
But she will not let him go softly into this fiery night. He drags his wing with its missing feathers and keeps his head hung low so as not to use any of the muscles in it. His bright blue eyes just follow her as he tries to remember whether he actually saw Kensa or if it was a fever dream given to him by the pain. Ophanim thinks of how kind she must be to worry over him when their lives are all at stake.
Now in Loess, the world is familiar at the very least and he even manages a blood-stained smile when she finds him again. He closes his eyes and tries not to sleep as he lays in the dry grasses of his home. Occasionally he rouses enough energy to open his bright blue eyes again, and at one point he thinks he might’ve seen his mother watching him from afar. She never did well with blood. He says nothing when Starsin returns with Cress, though, and he remains silent as they speak. Ophie can’t help but give a short laugh when she explains how bad his injuries are, and the sound summons a new wave of pain across his throat and jaw.
He sucks in a breath that hisses between his teeth when she touches him but he’s too weak to pull away or fight it. Instead he only clenches his teeth and tries to be calm while she weaves him back together, piece by piece. Somehow, her healing his wing feels worse and he cries out when the bones snap back into their proper place. His legs squirm beneath the torment and he has to fight himself to not flap his wings as she rebuilds them. Luckily he manages to remain still enough, and he’s relieved when she lifts her head to say she is finished. The angel boy remains on the ground, gasping for breath as his body finally begins to relax again.
Malone comes crashing through the grasses and shrubs toward them, his clumsy legs collapsing as he drops down next to his father. The gold and white sire smiles weakly as the boy nestles his face into Ophanim’s shoulder and cries.
“I’m fine, Malone. This is all other people’s blood,” he lies as he tries to lift his head and look at his child. “I just flew in from Tephra, and boy are my wings tired.” He laughs and this time the sound isn’t caked in dried blood or framed in agony. The black and gold child keeps his face tucked into Ophanim’s side for a few moments longer before finally lifting his face, tear-stained and terrified, to look at Cress.
“Thank you,” he says softly, black and blue eyes dewy and misty from his weeping. His own tiny wings hang limp with worry across his sides as he looks to his mother, his rock in all this chaos.