that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
Her eyes are as sharp as his father’s, and he finds that it is both strangely unsettling and comforting in the same breath. He doesn’t believe that she is less curious, less hungry to know the truth beneath the mask (although perhaps she would be less willing to dig it up if she was to know the truth depths of his darkness). He does believe that she is willing to play along with his facade though and so he lets her.
It’s easier for him to settle into this arrogant persona than navigate the trenches of his reality.
He laughs at her explanation, a short, husky chuckle as she rolls her eyes again. “I suppose you should continue practicing then.” Not that he has any idea how shifting like this actually works. He had been given the characteristics of the jaguar, but it was just a brush of power. It gifted him with superior strength, enhanced senses, and even the bite of the jungle cat—but he could never don the fullness of it.
Perhaps his father’s sharp gaze was disappointment then.
Firion could hardly blame him.
“I would not say it’s dumb,” he rolls his shoulders. “Most of those I’ve met wouldn’t even try.” It spoke to his low opinion of most Beqanna residents, but he didn’t soften his words. “At least you’re working toward mastery of it.” He lets his gaze wander over her doe form again. “But you have a while to go.”
Another quick laugh as if to prove that it was a harmless statement before he continues. His interest perks at the mention of food and he realizes that his stomach is indeed groaning in protest. Enough that his guard drops just a little. He flinches at the back half of her sentence before smoothing his features over again. After all, it would never disappear—not really. Not when he was running from himself.
“I could do with some food.”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
