From my breast the cold heart taking,
Give it to Belerma's care
Is it true? Can it be? Is this Gunsynd, the same one I stare at now with hushed reverence, is he suspicious of my motives? That smile - it hardly touches the depths of his eyes. He’s very good at the game I’m trying to learn, I study him now with a ravenous stare. “What nightmare can a nightmare dream?” I wonder, and then the slip of his first question is hanging in the air between us, footed only by another, less relevant one.
“Are you afraid?” I ask suddenly, the subtle perk of my head giving me the air of someone highly amused. “No one will come for me, if I scream.” I tell him flatly, the red of my coat beginning to drain as I constructively brush past his final inquiry. It draws my humor with it, leaving me to color myself in strokes of dappled gray. “I’ve tried it before.”
My interest in him wanes. Perhaps I’d been mistaken in my initial evaluation of this creature. He seems, at times, fully awake and at ease. But there are moments in the span of our little tete-a-tete that the infallible Gunsynd becomes riddled with uncertainty. I long for the rush of a fear I cannot conquer; Gunsynd may not be the one to challenge this. “Invincibility comes from having nothing to lose.”
He has more than enough.
I ease forward. My body realigns itself for southbound travel, the interwoven wings hoisted over my slender ribs sparkling softly in the glinting light as I twist around. “Call me disappointed, I suppose.” I tell him at last, switching the mute gray of my skin to the same, rich green of the meadowland around us. “What good are your abilities if you can’t use them as you see fit?”
No good at all.
Rey
@[Gunsynd]
Have at it
