do you think God stays in his heaven because he, too, lives in fear of what he has created?
There is no part of him that knows how to be soft, how to support another creature or dry tears. Any comfort someone could gain from him is entirely coincidental. Similarly, he has not yet learned to impose his will on others nor has he learned to issue commands to girls who cannot disobey. Everything so far has been a series of little miracles all adding up to this moment. He touches her cheek only because he cannot see the features of her face and so he must map them out instead. Ghaul doesn’t really know what makes a face lovely or revolting to look at and so he likes them all equally. There is no favorite, for now.
He almost startles when she leans against his touch but he only flinches, remaining close for her to continue to lie against. The drakeling keeps his nose right there on her temple and tries not to move much more. There is something to be learned here, he is sure, but the lesson eludes him for the time being. Perhaps a little later on he will learn that others do not share their warmth so intimately with others. They do not let their lips find the high points of another’s cheek or the delicate skin of their jawline.
She speaks, and he tilts his head curiously when she says she does not know. His small ears turn forward to catch the sound of her anger and he delights in it. Ghaul swallows nervously and wonders if she will give in to that rage or if she will choke it down as others seem to do. But she only repeats her words and wilts as she surrenders the fight to remember. He finds himself nodding in understanding, unable to clear the blur from his own memories either.
“We will see,” he replies with a confident nod of his head, the little nubs of his horns bobbing along with the movement. “I will here. Right here.”
And then he lifts his head, watching the deep blue distance that stretches before him for miles. Part of him is still aching and hoping his own father returns for him. It feels strange, the way his anger and loneliness merge into one and settle there in his small chest. But it grows a little softer once he leans his head against her neck and tucks his chin down to doze off for a while as the blue and black of night turns to the pink and orange of dawn.
His breaths remain smooth and even for some time, the only sign he sleeps, until a short snort announces his awakening. With dew settled across his wings and scales, he suddenly lifts his head and observes his surroundings for a moment. Ghaul spreads his wings over them in a brief stretch before tucking them tight over his back once more.
“Still here,” he says softly, mostly to himself as he checks the horizon for that familiar blur of fiery red and yellow that he knows will not come.
@[greta] i almost made him say "but i cant see?"