04-15-2015, 12:39 AM
Though I’m not at first facing the direction in which the painted stallion approaches, something in me makes me turn as he nears -- maybe it’s the sheer power of his presence, or maybe it’s the electric that hums through his veins. Whatever it is, I sense him; and as I turn toward him, my eyes fall instantly upon the sparks. My eyes widen and my breath hitches against my ribcage in the most terrifyingly familiar way. I start to feel myself begin to melt away (and maybe he sees it too -- beads of liquid gold dripping through chinks in my icy armor, the ice itself glistening wetly) but his brusque voice startles me enough to keep me from liquefying into nonexistence. So I stand there like a statue, frozen amidst my snow, barely registering the words he spoke through the hammering of my butterfly-heart as I try to breathe -- just breathe -- in and out. In. Out. I feel his eyes rake over me, appraising, and I know I will look small and scared like before. The heat of embarrassment flows through me then, reawakening the ice in my veins all at once. It flares against the heat and serves to still my flyaway heart. Finally I find my voice, though it is characteristically whisper-soft, especially in comparison to the heavy tones he commanded. “Kora,” I manage, ducking my head a little to keep my eyes from wandering to the sparks radiating from his impressive black-and-white frame. “I’m Kora.” It was foolish that I'd never considered the existence of others as electric as my sister, but coming face to face with that reality so abruptly was unnerving indeed. I’m swallowing past the knot in my throat when we are joined by another. The yearling colt provides enough of a distraction that I’m able to compose myself better than I might have if Kratos and I had been alone. I let the glowing blue of my eyes rest upon the bay youth until a light snowfall clouds the air -- one for which I am not at all responsible this time. Perhaps it might have passed for simple arctic weather, if the snow weren’t falling solely around where we stood. Then the colt tells the painted stallion he looks beautiful, asks if I’m cold to the touch; he bumps my shoulder and smiles when he finds that I am. Of course I am. It is Noori’s name that draws me out from the shell of my insecurities. “You’re Noori’s son?” Firstborn son -- there are others, I think quickly. I blink a little as my eyes find his and realize they glow ever so faintly. “Your mother’s a friend of mine,” I explain softly, though it seems an inadequate description for what we are. Together, we’ve been afraid. We’ve been survivors. We’ve been forever changed. So I smile for him, as I would for my friend. “I'm glad we've met, Nihlus.” Yet despite my interest in the boy and his mother’s wellbeing, Kratos’ presence pulls at my periphery, ever imposing, not to be ignored. Inhaling carefully, I glance his way, my gaze skipping over his sparks nervously. “I’m sorry -- what was your name again? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch it.” k o r a winter manipulation, liquification, astraphobia  |
