06-14-2016, 09:57 PM
As my son has aged, he has become more and more inclined to wander on his own. I understand the impulse, having spent most of my youth doing exactly the same. He continues to learn much from both of his parents, but he likes alone time to synthesize the information and to make his own observations and explore the world on his terms. So now that my love is busy with a fabulous little project of his own, I find myself doing the same: wandering solo for the first time in a good year and a half, almost two if you count the months I did so while carrying Tycho.
It is...less satisfying than I remember. Stumbling across a lovely new flower or creature or land formation is much more fun when there's someone to share it with. Or two someones. I could, I suppose, interrupt my brother and his lover from their perpetual entanglement. But I can imagine how...displeased I would be if he were to interrupt me in a similar state. And their lovely daughter spends most of her time with her grandmother exploring old haunts and learning all about Beqanna. Somehow...somehow I'm not quite up for a tour of the old homestead, yeah? So. Solo it is.
The night is lovely, stars spilling endlessly across the midnight sky. And as I wander the Meadow, in idle search of something to capture my attention, those stars reach down from high above and illuminate an equally lovely sight. Darkness dims the vibrant red of her coat, the teal of her mane and tail muted by the cover of night. An elegant star on her forehead stands out most, and on her cheek, a faint hint of scarring just visible beneath the dark of a moonless sky.
Ah, but my family has never been the type to run from a few scars. Most of us have worn ours as badges of honor. I fought to wear mine as an outward sign of the monster I'd believed myself to be, once upon a fever dream. Gave them up for my favorite brother, even if the bastard did set me on fire. Still, I don't regret their absence. There's not a mark on the powder blue of my coat, no patchwork stitches cutting across the steel blue of my dun markings showing where my family had to put me back together. No slashes across the blue violet of my dorsal stripe, and my matching violet mane and tail long since grew back, the outermost edges lightly frosted with the powder blue of my coat.
Still. I can admire the story behind a good scar, even if I have none to speak of any longer.
In another life, or a couple of years ago, I would have been tempted to flirt. Would have wondered what those scars would feel like beneath my lips, what her skin tasted like, what sounds she would make if I touched her just right. So I am a little surprised when curiosity doesn't unfurl its lovely wings in my belly and urge me closer, closer. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I barely notice anyone who isn't Pazuzu or Tycho. They're my whole damn world, those two, and everyone else is just periphery.
No. Not everyone. Family is slowly trickling their way back into my life, Mom and Drow and Arzhur and Dara. Still, most of the rest of the world fades to insignificance when those two are around. So much for being determined to be nothing like my mother. My family is all that matters.
Dammit.
Determined to...I don't know, hold onto some semblance of a life outside being an almost-wife and mother, I forge ahead. Taking a couple of steps forward, I close the distance between myself and the lovely stranger to something more sociable. “Lovely night, isn't it?” I ask, casting another glance up at the stars. Then I meet her gaze and smile, an expression surprisingly lacking in its usual hint of wickedness. “Name's Ryss.”
It is...less satisfying than I remember. Stumbling across a lovely new flower or creature or land formation is much more fun when there's someone to share it with. Or two someones. I could, I suppose, interrupt my brother and his lover from their perpetual entanglement. But I can imagine how...displeased I would be if he were to interrupt me in a similar state. And their lovely daughter spends most of her time with her grandmother exploring old haunts and learning all about Beqanna. Somehow...somehow I'm not quite up for a tour of the old homestead, yeah? So. Solo it is.
The night is lovely, stars spilling endlessly across the midnight sky. And as I wander the Meadow, in idle search of something to capture my attention, those stars reach down from high above and illuminate an equally lovely sight. Darkness dims the vibrant red of her coat, the teal of her mane and tail muted by the cover of night. An elegant star on her forehead stands out most, and on her cheek, a faint hint of scarring just visible beneath the dark of a moonless sky.
Ah, but my family has never been the type to run from a few scars. Most of us have worn ours as badges of honor. I fought to wear mine as an outward sign of the monster I'd believed myself to be, once upon a fever dream. Gave them up for my favorite brother, even if the bastard did set me on fire. Still, I don't regret their absence. There's not a mark on the powder blue of my coat, no patchwork stitches cutting across the steel blue of my dun markings showing where my family had to put me back together. No slashes across the blue violet of my dorsal stripe, and my matching violet mane and tail long since grew back, the outermost edges lightly frosted with the powder blue of my coat.
Still. I can admire the story behind a good scar, even if I have none to speak of any longer.
In another life, or a couple of years ago, I would have been tempted to flirt. Would have wondered what those scars would feel like beneath my lips, what her skin tasted like, what sounds she would make if I touched her just right. So I am a little surprised when curiosity doesn't unfurl its lovely wings in my belly and urge me closer, closer. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I barely notice anyone who isn't Pazuzu or Tycho. They're my whole damn world, those two, and everyone else is just periphery.
No. Not everyone. Family is slowly trickling their way back into my life, Mom and Drow and Arzhur and Dara. Still, most of the rest of the world fades to insignificance when those two are around. So much for being determined to be nothing like my mother. My family is all that matters.
Dammit.
Determined to...I don't know, hold onto some semblance of a life outside being an almost-wife and mother, I forge ahead. Taking a couple of steps forward, I close the distance between myself and the lovely stranger to something more sociable. “Lovely night, isn't it?” I ask, casting another glance up at the stars. Then I meet her gaze and smile, an expression surprisingly lacking in its usual hint of wickedness. “Name's Ryss.”
Daeryssa
of the restless heart
((I am so sorry this took so long. :| She's finally cooperating again.))