boy what's normal to you? 'cause that sure ain't normal to me.
Most days the Archon is alert enough to notice when a stranger steps into his home. Hardly a soul wanders into Pangea, so when one finally does Litotes is sure to address their purpose. That is, when he is not wrapped in a tangled mess of brooding thoughts. Moody he is, as moody as he usually is, probably moodier than usual. The scowl furrowing his brow and creasing his lips gives him away.
Rain is strong on the wind: a clean scent that even in Pangea cannot be erased. The Archon lifts his carefully carved skull to the sky and allows the gray clouds to reflect in his golden eyes. They darken as the storm does, deepening from cool topaz to earthy brown in a matter of moments. He drops his gaze down to the dusty soil beneath him, recalling the last time water dampened the dry dirt beneath him. Starsin had rushed into a shadow-wrapped cave, and the two had parted even more confused than before. The star-studded girl had rushed from his touch with a sputtered excuse, and they have not spoken since. Lie almost regrets his vulnerability with her - almost.
It is that same warm gentility that encompasses him when the downpour begins. Instead of rushing to his home behind him, he turns to the outskirts of Pangea to patrol. His eyes are melancholy and his steps heavy when he goes, a lonely hum muted by the rain the only thing to keep him company.
Quiet and reflective solitude is rare for the cremello. He questions if anything he has done over the past two years leaves even a little dent in the universe; he questions his own meager and resolute existence. Ever since the quest, since reuniting with Kensa, since discovering his warmth for Starsin - he sits in the bitter realization that not much of anything matters. Perhaps he is depressed; or rather, he needs the next chapter of his life to be written. Too much uncertainty has tainted his confidence, but at least it has quieted his arrogance.
The crater Litotes happens upon is no stranger to him, though he cannot say he has ever been terribly keen to crawl inside. It is the masked feline smell that gives him pause and turns his head, equine ears flicking erratically to attempt to pick up sound amongst the pattering of the rain. The scent is off: not only is it diluted by the water, but it also mingles with distinct scent of an equine child. A shifter? A foal? The Archon’s throat tightens at the idea of a babe stumbling into the dark only to never come out. With that image in mind, he shifts and slides down the red clay of the crater.
What Lie sees before he fully makes it to the bottom makes his heart drop: a little blue lion cub curled into a ball. He swallows, instantly wondering if he is discovering yet another one of his children. Still, his heart aches for the little oddity and ragged blue fur. Most days, the Archon would either nudge her awake or grumble until she moves; yet, it is not most days, and he cannot quell the keening of his heart.
Winslow is cold when he curls around her, quiet steps unsure if she will startle away from him. He curls his paws beneath him and holds his head above her to lessen the rainfall.
“Little one . . .” he murmurs, then rumbles out a few chuffs.
and if i fall would you know that to do?
and if i'm caught up would you stay?
@[winslow] <3
