11-04-2018, 04:40 PM
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
He knew it was only a matter of time until more would flock to the idea of a sanctuary, thus finding this island. It hasn’t been a concern or worry; Tiphon has been anxiously awaiting to house others and potentially supply a means of healing. Welcoming as he is, his frequent rounds of the island are to ensure no one trespasses with ill intent. There will always be aggressors that feed on mischief and fear.
So, he waits for them.
Tiphon’s flight is brief, drawn to increased activity on the southwestern section of the beach. Their voices ring as they reunite, scrambling toward each other, embracing each other. Family, he assumes, and confirms upon noticing the similar coloration painted across them. With a simple tilt of his wings and body, Tiphon descends and alights on the sandy shore not at all far from them.
A grin tips up the corners of his mouth while his wings neatly tuck against his sides. An expression of amiability softens the chiseled lines of his face. They are here for refuge, perhaps nothing more. ”Hello,” he initially offers as the distance among them shrinks away, his molten eyes darting across their faces in search of a more or less leader of their family. ”Welcome to the Island Resort. I’m Tiphon,” he doesn’t admit his claim on the small island, reserving the information for a later time. The more pressing matters hold his attention. ”How many of you are sick?” He tries to search for symptoms, to extrapolate and observe, but his eyes are fleeting among the numerous faces, uncertain as to whom commands.
So, he waits for them.
Tiphon’s flight is brief, drawn to increased activity on the southwestern section of the beach. Their voices ring as they reunite, scrambling toward each other, embracing each other. Family, he assumes, and confirms upon noticing the similar coloration painted across them. With a simple tilt of his wings and body, Tiphon descends and alights on the sandy shore not at all far from them.
A grin tips up the corners of his mouth while his wings neatly tuck against his sides. An expression of amiability softens the chiseled lines of his face. They are here for refuge, perhaps nothing more. ”Hello,” he initially offers as the distance among them shrinks away, his molten eyes darting across their faces in search of a more or less leader of their family. ”Welcome to the Island Resort. I’m Tiphon,” he doesn’t admit his claim on the small island, reserving the information for a later time. The more pressing matters hold his attention. ”How many of you are sick?” He tries to search for symptoms, to extrapolate and observe, but his eyes are fleeting among the numerous faces, uncertain as to whom commands.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION