resurrect the saint within the wretch
There is sadness in his dark ocean eyes - a sadness that is permanent, but somehow deepens within those irises as he watches her shiver beneath her hiding place, cold and frightened. He wants to tell her he knows what it’s like to be frightened, to be uncertain, to feel helpless; but none of these words come. Instead, he bows his great horned head in an attempt to make himself seem smaller. He goes so far as to pull the flurry of his white wings as close as they could to his body, blinking gently beneath snow-white lashes.
Silence engulfs them - deadly and sinister despite the fact that the two were in no way attempting to harm each other. And then; so sudden that Warden’s head jerks upwards in concern, his nostrils flaring pink at the sound of her cries. His brow furrows, nearly breaking his promise to give her space when he lifts a single dark foreleg, desperate to go to her and comfort a mere (and terribly broken) stranger.
Her voice is so quiet, shaking and uncertain with such sadness that Warden can feel her heartbreak. He swallows, a frown on his pearled lips as he lowers his body into the snow, his dark legs curling beneath him as he comes to rest just where he had been standing before her, nearly eye level but still that same distance away. His wings are as white and untainted as the world around them, his movement downward sending the familiar smell of ash and smoke into the otherwise clear night air.
“I don’t know what it’s like not to be scared,” he confesses in a hushed voice, near to the same tone that she had spoken in to him. The constant nightmares, the constant knowing of the future - fear is an old friend. He’s scared at this moment, even though in reality, there is nothing to be frightened of. “I’ve learned that that’s okay.” He pauses, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say more, but finds that there is nothing he could offer her that would make her feel brave.
@[Astra Daggenhardt]
