03-13-2017, 08:55 PM
Atrani
To say the group is passable would be a lie. There are voices, gravelly like the rocks that scrape down the volcano sides, but also sweet like the first bloomings of the spring. With a broad expanse of noise and smells, Atrani finds herself drawn forward. Tephra is still a winding maze of divots and hills, but she navigates with a meticulous step and a curious mind. Her ears are reaching for their voices, desperate to hear their commotion, and she hears some of it, but certainly not all.
Outsiders, and she considers them warily but curiously. She isn’t exactly a native here, but her skin at least reeks of the arid smoke and humidity. They – their voices more barbed and mistrusting – carry with them the reek of decay and dirt. Atrani doesn’t know these lands, not much more than the no-name island, Tephra, and the meadow. Their oddities strike her as distinct and new, their purposes unknown yet alluring as they are addressed.
Left. Right. Left.
She focuses heavily on where she walks, but not to whom she walks to. With her senses groping for the strangers, the child breaks the invisible fortification dividing the groups. They stand facing each other, accusing someone of lies and offering a facetious glance into Tephra. Pushing past it all without even a moment’s hesitation, Atrani reaches forward and presses her lips to Pollock’s shoulder. She breathes him in – only him – while gliding her lips to the base of his neck. ”And what is Pangea about?” She returns his question with a voice of ice as she pulls away from his skin and peers up with her empty socks. ”What are you about?”
There is so much to him that she doesn’t know, but she can nearly taste it – feel it – as she stands in his wake before all others, a child facing the wasteland’s king, unafraid and blind to their advances.
Outsiders, and she considers them warily but curiously. She isn’t exactly a native here, but her skin at least reeks of the arid smoke and humidity. They – their voices more barbed and mistrusting – carry with them the reek of decay and dirt. Atrani doesn’t know these lands, not much more than the no-name island, Tephra, and the meadow. Their oddities strike her as distinct and new, their purposes unknown yet alluring as they are addressed.
Left. Right. Left.
She focuses heavily on where she walks, but not to whom she walks to. With her senses groping for the strangers, the child breaks the invisible fortification dividing the groups. They stand facing each other, accusing someone of lies and offering a facetious glance into Tephra. Pushing past it all without even a moment’s hesitation, Atrani reaches forward and presses her lips to Pollock’s shoulder. She breathes him in – only him – while gliding her lips to the base of his neck. ”And what is Pangea about?” She returns his question with a voice of ice as she pulls away from his skin and peers up with her empty socks. ”What are you about?”
There is so much to him that she doesn’t know, but she can nearly taste it – feel it – as she stands in his wake before all others, a child facing the wasteland’s king, unafraid and blind to their advances.
dove into her eyes and starved all the fears
picture by haenuli shin- HTML by Call - words: ________
[Image: callwolf_zpsasro4cel.png]