01-14-2021, 12:05 PM
. |
. |
. |
Why on earth would he want to fight? It’s an honest question, and it comes with an honest answer. Targaryen isn’t sure he has a bad bone in his body. He was never the child to torment the mindless, little creatures of the woods; he’s seen other boys chase the chipmunks until they skitter up trees, and he’s heard how the boys have laughed at the frightened animals. Their behavior had made him sick, and he hadn’t understood why they found so much joy in terrifying the woodland’s prey. Did it make them feel stronger? Did it give them the sense that they were something more significant than their leggy, awkward selves?
Targaryen doesn’t know if there will ever be a time in his life when he would fight. Perhaps a family would one day change his mind… If those chipmunk-chasing boys hurt daughters, or if his lover fell beneath the jaws of a predator. Targaryen doesn’t think about these concepts yet; he’s too focused on his two-year-old isolation and the thoughts of his parents to wonder what he will be like in fatherhood.
Her eyes draw him in, soft and pleading. For a moment, he considers twisting the story. Would it really be so bad to tell her that he heroically fought a cougar to protect a fawn? Targaryen’s chest tightens at the idea of lying, and though no one has taught him that such things are bad, he knows he can’t bring himself to change the truth.
So he takes a deep breath, releasing the tension from his pine-and-ivory chest, and says, “Something attacked me in the woods, and I ran away from it.” Could he have realistically fought the predator? Probably not; despite his efforts for independence, Targaryen is still growing into adulthood and his muscles would not have sufficiently protected him. But it feels cowardly to have run away, and so he turns his face away from her with shyness flickering in his soft brown eyes. “I ended up falling down a cliff and landed in the river. It dragged me all the way here, and I must’ve hit my head because I don’t remember anything until you saved me.”
He wants to look back into her pretty face, but nerves keep his eyes tethered to the bitter currents that move just past their feet. “Thank you,” he says, his voice quiet and grateful. He feels somber and awkward, and he wonders if his cowardly story will make her regret what she has done for him. “I, um… I hope you didn’t waste your energy on me.” He pauses, gathering a shaky breath. “I hope you’ll still want to be my friend.”
Targaryen doesn’t know if there will ever be a time in his life when he would fight. Perhaps a family would one day change his mind… If those chipmunk-chasing boys hurt daughters, or if his lover fell beneath the jaws of a predator. Targaryen doesn’t think about these concepts yet; he’s too focused on his two-year-old isolation and the thoughts of his parents to wonder what he will be like in fatherhood.
Her eyes draw him in, soft and pleading. For a moment, he considers twisting the story. Would it really be so bad to tell her that he heroically fought a cougar to protect a fawn? Targaryen’s chest tightens at the idea of lying, and though no one has taught him that such things are bad, he knows he can’t bring himself to change the truth.
So he takes a deep breath, releasing the tension from his pine-and-ivory chest, and says, “Something attacked me in the woods, and I ran away from it.” Could he have realistically fought the predator? Probably not; despite his efforts for independence, Targaryen is still growing into adulthood and his muscles would not have sufficiently protected him. But it feels cowardly to have run away, and so he turns his face away from her with shyness flickering in his soft brown eyes. “I ended up falling down a cliff and landed in the river. It dragged me all the way here, and I must’ve hit my head because I don’t remember anything until you saved me.”
He wants to look back into her pretty face, but nerves keep his eyes tethered to the bitter currents that move just past their feet. “Thank you,” he says, his voice quiet and grateful. He feels somber and awkward, and he wonders if his cowardly story will make her regret what she has done for him. “I, um… I hope you didn’t waste your energy on me.” He pauses, gathering a shaky breath. “I hope you’ll still want to be my friend.”
@[Cheri]