GHAUL
And ye shall overthrow their altars, and break their pillars, and burn their groves with fire
His entire soul ached, every inch of it, when he was a prisoner in Nerine. He missed the dry heat of the days spent in Pangea and the humid smell of salt here in the Cove. Nerine had none of the warmth of the lawless heart to it that his own home did, and it left him feeling hollow. His ribs were full of loneliness. If Craft expressed a similar agony, would he let her return to the trees of Taiga? He dwells on the question only briefly.
He turns and observes her, the stars glimmering silently across his face and talons. She is unlike Starlace, then. A quiet, thoughtful clicking gently fills the silence that blooms between them while she considers his question. Would whatever magic fills her restrain him in the same way? Being muzzled and chained is the only thing in this life that he truly detests. From his awful birth to now, he has never allowed anyone to contain him.
His clicking stops when she finishes speaking. Ghaul examines the warmth of her face for a few seconds more before he nods slowly in understanding. “Where would you go, given the choice, then?” he asks with a tilt of his head. Of course, he does not know her home was wiped into nothing, buried with any memory of it.
Ghaul thinks he would have liked to have been born in Tephra, where winter never quite gets its footing. Maybe he would have been gentler, being raised by Isilya rather than Anaxarete. But then he would not know Clarissa or Draco, and his heart would not be so full. The constant give and take of life, he supposes.
“Should anyone try to move you, I will consult you before I answer their challenge.” It isn’t quite an apology – he doesn’t understand them in the first place – but it is something akin to it.
He turns and observes her, the stars glimmering silently across his face and talons. She is unlike Starlace, then. A quiet, thoughtful clicking gently fills the silence that blooms between them while she considers his question. Would whatever magic fills her restrain him in the same way? Being muzzled and chained is the only thing in this life that he truly detests. From his awful birth to now, he has never allowed anyone to contain him.
His clicking stops when she finishes speaking. Ghaul examines the warmth of her face for a few seconds more before he nods slowly in understanding. “Where would you go, given the choice, then?” he asks with a tilt of his head. Of course, he does not know her home was wiped into nothing, buried with any memory of it.
Ghaul thinks he would have liked to have been born in Tephra, where winter never quite gets its footing. Maybe he would have been gentler, being raised by Isilya rather than Anaxarete. But then he would not know Clarissa or Draco, and his heart would not be so full. The constant give and take of life, he supposes.
“Should anyone try to move you, I will consult you before I answer their challenge.” It isn’t quite an apology – he doesn’t understand them in the first place – but it is something akin to it.