02-02-2020, 11:24 PM
Her broad, shaggy head turns towards him, and he can't help but admire the dainty turn of her wolfish ears. Not so long ago those questioning, almost wounded, eyes would have stirred in him an obligation. He would have moved heaven and earth to erase the doubt from those eyes, to make her smile.
But he remains unfeeling and he wonders, briefly, how it would feel to pretend.
Black lids slide closed over his ember eyes as the breeze flows between them, as soft as her voice. He wonders what he would have said, before, before. Maybe he would have thanked her, maybe he would have opened up.
He wonders if he should try, if he began would it be enough to crack the ice in his chest. He wants to speak, but his mind is painfully empty of all the things he could have said.
She is expectant; he is empty-handed.
His black-specked tongue slides over his teeth as he tries to find the words to say, but his mouth is dry and empty and each moment only amplifies his awkward silence.
Agitated, his feathered tail lashes behind him. The change in the air is as quick as it is liberating. Firen's head lowers as his wing of flame double, and double again. Around them, the fireflies ignite, each a twisting dancer writing in the flames. The glow of their world is no longer tender and soft, it is terribly brilliant and growing hotter.
He is frustrated, what should be a feeling congealing into a hard matt of heat under his ribs. "There's not much in this world that words can fix," he growls in the wolfish tongue. "So I hope that wasn't your only plan."
But he remains unfeeling and he wonders, briefly, how it would feel to pretend.
Black lids slide closed over his ember eyes as the breeze flows between them, as soft as her voice. He wonders what he would have said, before, before. Maybe he would have thanked her, maybe he would have opened up.
He wonders if he should try, if he began would it be enough to crack the ice in his chest. He wants to speak, but his mind is painfully empty of all the things he could have said.
She is expectant; he is empty-handed.
His black-specked tongue slides over his teeth as he tries to find the words to say, but his mouth is dry and empty and each moment only amplifies his awkward silence.
Agitated, his feathered tail lashes behind him. The change in the air is as quick as it is liberating. Firen's head lowers as his wing of flame double, and double again. Around them, the fireflies ignite, each a twisting dancer writing in the flames. The glow of their world is no longer tender and soft, it is terribly brilliant and growing hotter.
He is frustrated, what should be a feeling congealing into a hard matt of heat under his ribs. "There's not much in this world that words can fix," he growls in the wolfish tongue. "So I hope that wasn't your only plan."
![[Image: Firen-insane.gif]](https://i.postimg.cc/fL1FKyZk/Firen-insane.gif)