07-27-2016, 08:20 AM
To Gun, the best legends are never the easiest to tell nor are they the happiest.
He thinks legends are supposed to be dark and cautionary as much as they are sunny and inspiring.
Gun isn’t interested in myths any more; not after the way the lightning moves across her skin, as intimately as a lover.
He pulls his muzzle back, thinking it best not to touch her after all. Instinct, raw and old, tells him it will hurt to touch her despite the disturbing urge to do so. He wants to feel the lightning jump under his lips like her pulse might if he were to bridge their flesh with but a single sloppy childish kiss. “It will hurt me,” he states simply and confidently, as his eyes shift down and elsewhere as the mother of storms talks of strength. He understands that it is her shield and sword both, that is why they give her a wide berth, all of them except him.
Gun is almost envious now, something green and spiteful stirs in his coltish chest and the taste of it is ugly in his mouth.
A childish thought takes shape in his brain: how can he become like her?
Elemental and powerful; stripped of hurt because he doesn’t understand that she is still hurt, just on the inside.
Gun’s eyes become sly; “How does one become like you?”
He thinks legends are supposed to be dark and cautionary as much as they are sunny and inspiring.
Gun isn’t interested in myths any more; not after the way the lightning moves across her skin, as intimately as a lover.
He pulls his muzzle back, thinking it best not to touch her after all. Instinct, raw and old, tells him it will hurt to touch her despite the disturbing urge to do so. He wants to feel the lightning jump under his lips like her pulse might if he were to bridge their flesh with but a single sloppy childish kiss. “It will hurt me,” he states simply and confidently, as his eyes shift down and elsewhere as the mother of storms talks of strength. He understands that it is her shield and sword both, that is why they give her a wide berth, all of them except him.
Gun is almost envious now, something green and spiteful stirs in his coltish chest and the taste of it is ugly in his mouth.
A childish thought takes shape in his brain: how can he become like her?
Elemental and powerful; stripped of hurt because he doesn’t understand that she is still hurt, just on the inside.
Gun’s eyes become sly; “How does one become like you?”
ooc: sorry this is so short!
