06-20-2018, 08:52 AM
The thing that brought him here; that whisper through his blood; chants contentedly as she leans closer to him. And something under his skin that has lain dormant for far too long prickles like spider-bites. But the electricity is snuffed out by her sober words; and the storm harnessed behind his eyes fades.
So she had chosen the path of diplomat’s and princes – and he wonders if her heart had prayed for that path, for this future and fate; with great leaps goaded either by nightmares or by hope? Or if part of her longed to trip down the thicket’s path, were the grate of ugly oak’s skin would greet her sides; and nettles adorn her hair. He wonders if she knows what she’s done; this girl who beckons adventure. He wonders if the thorn-crown will change her, jade her. He hopes not, but having worshiped the dark that hems starlight Khaedrik knows better than anyone how these things can twist the soul.
”Queen Wishbone” he says; and there is softness in his words; a bittersweet lament. For a moment, for the duration of a fading smile’s memory on slack jaws, Khaedrik contemplated the difference of their lives – she would lead Leviathan´s into battle while he would cower in his darkness, belonging only partly to their world – partly somewhere else. And nevertheless – part of his own heart would be found in the sheen of her eye, and part of her in the shadow of his eyelash.
But there is not enough time for what ifs – she leaps from him and his heartbeat is a thunderstorm as he follows; and in the wake of her enthusiasm Khaedrik can forget who he is and the skin he wears. Khaedrik; urchin who danced gavottes with darkness was swallowed, and his predecessor was a swift, nimble thing of forest-feet and fleet grace following the auburn girl with the face that coaxed heroes to coo that her beauty was more than enchantment, that her grace was not a thing learned, but the algebra of gods, that she was as ephemeral as the blossom erupting in desert rain. And there is the child´s laughter in his throat – and the sea-foam breath of an adventurer in his lungs as he bolts after her. She is sea-spun and as nimble as an ocean nymph and he stops just by the water’s edge. Khaedrik has never been fond of the inky black ocean-depths, they remind him too much of his own shadows. But he smiles still, and he sends a shadow after her – liquid night that twists and simmers around her until it shapes itself into a giant, gleaming-eyed dolphin, inviting the girl to climb upon its back. Khaedrik lets the rest of them carry him through the water – and his body sings with their tune. There – in the roiling darkness just below the surface they feel at home, and he shudders.
”I’m not sure the ocean likes us” he says – but there is still the hint of a smile in his voice. His shadow-dolphin, twirling and spinning around Wishbone ignores the suspicion of its master. It is a bizarre creation – with its bright-gleam eyes and teeth as sharp as knives, leaping and gamboling around the girl, and Khaedrik cannot help but smile again.
@[Wishbone]