Erio doesn’t realize, doesn’t know, that this is the reason mother remained in Pangea. Her term ended, he remembered, but her absence burrowed a hole into his aching heart. She wanted to stay there, he assumed, and to stay away from him.
Little does he know that a tendril of rekindled passion and curiosity swept through her blood. Little does he know that this is actually his sister – another beautiful one! – and that they share a mother, not a father. Yet even in his ignorance, Erio is drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Seclusion has housed him since his descent from the Mountain. His thoughts have been occupied with these waves of magic thrumming through his veins.
Somehow, he pulled bones from far underneath the soil. They were forgotten, alone.
Somehow, he injected life into those bleached bones.
Since then, during the day when his consciousness reigns, the squirrel bones have followed him. They bound eerily at his side, the bald joints clicking against each other. It’s a friend, Erio told himself the first day he succeeded.
A smile curls the thin line of his lips as he glances as the lively skeleton. It continues to walk and hop nearby, its empty eye sockets a dark void that the boy nearly falls into. He shakes his head. ”I’m going to meet her now. I will see you soon,” it says nothing back to him – how could it? – but it satisfies the young hellhound enough to finally turn away. He doesn’t watch as his magic releases and the bones topple over, once again lifeless. In his mind, he imagines the bones springing off to the woods until they reunite later.
”Hello,” his voice is youthful and smooth like the chords of a harp as he watches a snowy owl disappear among the trees. Fascination softens the edges of his canid face. His triangular ears flick back and forth until standing forward when his gaze falls across the girl. They are close in age, yet his size deceives those in his path. Petite, even as a hellhound, he did not inherit the perfection of his siblings or parents.
Buckling his hindlegs, he sits and coils his plumed tail around his paws. ”I’m Erio. What’s your name?” he won’t recognize it – he hasn’t seen mother since she delivered. Another friend, he sees, oblivious to the blood they share.
Little does he know that a tendril of rekindled passion and curiosity swept through her blood. Little does he know that this is actually his sister – another beautiful one! – and that they share a mother, not a father. Yet even in his ignorance, Erio is drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Seclusion has housed him since his descent from the Mountain. His thoughts have been occupied with these waves of magic thrumming through his veins.
Somehow, he pulled bones from far underneath the soil. They were forgotten, alone.
Somehow, he injected life into those bleached bones.
Since then, during the day when his consciousness reigns, the squirrel bones have followed him. They bound eerily at his side, the bald joints clicking against each other. It’s a friend, Erio told himself the first day he succeeded.
A smile curls the thin line of his lips as he glances as the lively skeleton. It continues to walk and hop nearby, its empty eye sockets a dark void that the boy nearly falls into. He shakes his head. ”I’m going to meet her now. I will see you soon,” it says nothing back to him – how could it? – but it satisfies the young hellhound enough to finally turn away. He doesn’t watch as his magic releases and the bones topple over, once again lifeless. In his mind, he imagines the bones springing off to the woods until they reunite later.
”Hello,” his voice is youthful and smooth like the chords of a harp as he watches a snowy owl disappear among the trees. Fascination softens the edges of his canid face. His triangular ears flick back and forth until standing forward when his gaze falls across the girl. They are close in age, yet his size deceives those in his path. Petite, even as a hellhound, he did not inherit the perfection of his siblings or parents.
Buckling his hindlegs, he sits and coils his plumed tail around his paws. ”I’m Erio. What’s your name?” he won’t recognize it – he hasn’t seen mother since she delivered. Another friend, he sees, oblivious to the blood they share.
erio
@[Altissima]