07-01-2019, 03:25 PM
it's a lonely road, I know,
and nothing ever stands between a bullet and your soul;
He had thought of her, because it was impossible not to.
He has never been good at staying, never been good at being something that anyone could rely on, but she, above anyone else, had made him think of trying. And he had, for awhile. It had been easy; she made it easy. Lovely and light, so unlike those he usually tangled with, always so soft and delicate beneath his touch. He never grew tired of the way she sometimes glowed when his lips traced a path down the slender arch of her neck, or how she would shiver at the feel of his teeth along the slope of her back. In the weeks and months that followed since he brought her here, he did his best to make her his.
But the day Beqanna rid itself of the plague, he suddenly couldn’t find her. And of course, he had looked. He was a wayward fool, but he wouldn’t let her go that easily.
After exhausting all of his efforts, he finally had to resign himself to the fact that perhaps she had left on her own accord, and perhaps she did not want to be found.
He did not stay in the Pampas often, but he checked back frequently. Just on the off chance that she would come back. Today, as he once again scans the familiar terrain, he does not dare to hope that she will be here. It was easier to come here with no expectations, and it made it easier to leave.
When a flash of gold catches his eye, and when the familiar sound of her mind’s voice infiltrates his own, he freezes. Brilliant and blue, he turns his head to find her face, and even though his jaw is set in a tense line, the sight of her stirs something to life in his calloused heart. He stares at her long enough that he almost does not notice the young girl alongside of her until he begins to walk towards her, but when his steel-blue eyes settle on the blue-pointed buckskin, his heart leaps. There was no mistake that she was his, and he can feel the strangest mixture of excitement and guilt begin to bubble inside his chest. He should have been there; he should have tried harder to find her.
He doesn’t stop moving until he is in front of her, and perhaps he should be a bit more cautious, but he cannot help but to reach and brush his lips against her golden forehead and to murmur her name, “Osyva,” and he steps closer to breathe her in. He resists the urge to keep touching her, to pull her into his chest, but instead he casts his attention to the young girl that was clearly his daughter. He offers a smile, but it is hesitant and unsure, realizing that he has no idea how to behave around his children. “I’m...I’m Raed,” he finally says, unsure if Osyva even wanted the girl to know that he was her father. Perhaps that was why she had left, he thinks, and even if it stung, he couldn’t blame her.
@[Osyva]
and nothing ever stands between a bullet and your soul;
He had thought of her, because it was impossible not to.
He has never been good at staying, never been good at being something that anyone could rely on, but she, above anyone else, had made him think of trying. And he had, for awhile. It had been easy; she made it easy. Lovely and light, so unlike those he usually tangled with, always so soft and delicate beneath his touch. He never grew tired of the way she sometimes glowed when his lips traced a path down the slender arch of her neck, or how she would shiver at the feel of his teeth along the slope of her back. In the weeks and months that followed since he brought her here, he did his best to make her his.
But the day Beqanna rid itself of the plague, he suddenly couldn’t find her. And of course, he had looked. He was a wayward fool, but he wouldn’t let her go that easily.
After exhausting all of his efforts, he finally had to resign himself to the fact that perhaps she had left on her own accord, and perhaps she did not want to be found.
He did not stay in the Pampas often, but he checked back frequently. Just on the off chance that she would come back. Today, as he once again scans the familiar terrain, he does not dare to hope that she will be here. It was easier to come here with no expectations, and it made it easier to leave.
When a flash of gold catches his eye, and when the familiar sound of her mind’s voice infiltrates his own, he freezes. Brilliant and blue, he turns his head to find her face, and even though his jaw is set in a tense line, the sight of her stirs something to life in his calloused heart. He stares at her long enough that he almost does not notice the young girl alongside of her until he begins to walk towards her, but when his steel-blue eyes settle on the blue-pointed buckskin, his heart leaps. There was no mistake that she was his, and he can feel the strangest mixture of excitement and guilt begin to bubble inside his chest. He should have been there; he should have tried harder to find her.
He doesn’t stop moving until he is in front of her, and perhaps he should be a bit more cautious, but he cannot help but to reach and brush his lips against her golden forehead and to murmur her name, “Osyva,” and he steps closer to breathe her in. He resists the urge to keep touching her, to pull her into his chest, but instead he casts his attention to the young girl that was clearly his daughter. He offers a smile, but it is hesitant and unsure, realizing that he has no idea how to behave around his children. “I’m...I’m Raed,” he finally says, unsure if Osyva even wanted the girl to know that he was her father. Perhaps that was why she had left, he thinks, and even if it stung, he couldn’t blame her.
R A E D
@[Osyva]
![[Image: Raed.jpg]](https://i.postimg.cc/qNcK0V8V/Raed.jpg)
(click for full size)