when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
He comes.
He always does. Always would, until the day his flesh grew too tight to fit over bones and he closed his eyes for good. There’s no shame in understanding that without her, Wyrm would have nothing worth living for, so he tells Longclaw of his intentions before trading shapes to set out and meet her. Cheetah - it comes so easily - fair-colored to reflect the sun and with modifications to extend the stamina of short bursts into a loping, rolling run. Black-rimmed eyes and wide paws, a tail to rudder him against the winds that dance across the sand flats, and soon enough he finds her. She is the only creature who has ever opened his third eye.
Her two regular ones, however, seem especially sharp today. “Nothing like Nerine, I know.” He murmurs to her, body expanding to take the shape she knows him best by. She won’t be so easily side-tracked, though, and he’s very much aware why. Longclaw, of course, is here. Heartfire, though usually reserved, has made herself quite clear about her feelings for their twins so Wyrm knows this conversation won’t come easily. No coaxing, no amount of soothing, would dim the hyperborean emotions she displays so clearly through her gaze. Fixated, the green stallion can’t look away, but he closes the distance between them soon (and eagerly) enough.
His nose clashes softly against the motley of hairs near the apex of her neck, drawing backwards to trace a light path against her rigid cheek so that his words, “Is Rapture safe? Have you come to scold me?” might not rise above a whisper. There’s the faint jerk of his lips against her skin; the act of smiling, followed by a retreating step so that he might face her equally. He always liked her best when she was angry.
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
ooc: Anything for Heartfire <3