Sabra
An answering whicker of amusement joins the thrumming sounds he makes. For a moment we stand as we always have, too stubborn for our own goods, especially when it came to each other. We are neither of us born followers.
(You would fail at that also)
The pink-tipped curves of my ears twist at the niggling voices, their softly spoken darkness heard no matter what I do. A shallow sigh makes the ache in my chest throb loudly for a few beats, before my heart resumes it's regular pounding rhythm. He is lazing on the other shore, black and white and shining in the sun. Beautiful like a finely crafted knife is, sharp edges and unmistakable purpose.
This conversation is slow thing. The words each are measured and poured with great care before I trust them to be heard. They must be, because I am unwilling to be the one who shakes this sudden truce.
(It will be you. It is always you)
I blink, amazed yet unwilling to show it when he moves. The massive coils of his draconic form unravel cat-like from where he's been resting, to resettle again much closer. A simple "huh" of air is my reaction. Lips pursed in doubt I nod, acknowledging his offering. It takes a moment of preparation, of steeling myself for the cold and the vision of crimson staining the snow melt, before I am able to move my legs into the flow of river.
Once my legs are knee deep in the ice-limned current, the ginger steps grow more urgent until I find myself gasping on the other side. The pain in my chest is wrenchingly present, all I can think about until the fear-quick beats slow again. And then I'm there. With him.
Up close now I can see that I'm not the only one bearing new scars, and fresher marks that will be scars soon. The Fallen One left his mark on me in more ways than a shaft in my heart. Castile looks battle worn too. A snort of black humor leaves a grin of irony on my lips. "Two grizzled warriors are we." I chime, knowing full well that our scar marks have yet to succeed in making us less beautiful. Wiser, I hope.
I nod once to his blunt observation. "Not for lack of trying," my dry humor plays on. When he lays like this, we are nearly eye level, and I can see the stirring of emotions in his mercurial gaze. One silver, one vivid orange. I see our sons and our sins in his eyes.
He takes his own stab at humor, and it sounds as inauthentic as my own.
My eyes drift back to the icy river, tracking twigs and drifting chunks of snow as they pass us by. I haven't missed the blood that stains the dragon's maw, it was the scent of his kill that first caught my attention, after all. He must eat, just as we all do.
"And what if I do? Want to know. As you said, it's been a long time. All we have is time. May as well fill me in." It doesn't feel like prying. More like a long overdue discussion. The news that he had resigned seemed almost right, in a way. He had what he'd wanted, enjoyed it for a time. Now it was on to something new. The cycle would repeat itself, endlessly.
I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
Photo by Kareva Margarita
@[Castile]