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Targaryen doesn’t notice the way her eyes are glazed and unfocused until she mentions his clumsy landing. At first, he is confused; he wonders if she had merely been looking the other way when he fell. But the hazy look in her eyes (the way her gaze strays beyond his face and into a world he can’t quite see) leads him to believe she truly can’t see his landing or anything else that surrounds them.
How different would he be if he couldn’t see? Targaryen has never come across someone with a sense that is lost to the whims of the world, and this sudden phenomenon brings a flood of questions to his mind. Would he be as independent as he is now? He pictures himself, old as he is now, curled against his mother’s unfeeling side because he has never had the confidence to leave her and venture into the darkness. Would he use his wings at all? It would be hard to fly without the ability to see. How would he calculate when to land (something he is struggling with even while he can see the ground rushing up to meet him)? How would he avoid the other flighted creatures, or know when to ascend to avoid the treetops?
His chest feels warm and tight with a sudden appreciation for Catryn. She is bold in ways he probably wouldn’t be if he were in her place. “It’s scary at first. You feel like you’re falling and you’re not sure if your wings will carry you.” He remembers his first attempts, carefully moving his wings to gain a few feet of airspace. “It seems silly that some feathers can carry your whole body through the air.” Though her wings are billowing rays of the sun captured against her sides, Targaryen assumes they work much the same as his own.
He wants to tell her how brave she is, to explore the world while her eyes see only darkness. Targaryen opens his pale mouth to say the words but closes his mouth quickly after, worried that turning the conversation back toward her blindness and his curiosity will push her away.
How different would he be if he couldn’t see? Targaryen has never come across someone with a sense that is lost to the whims of the world, and this sudden phenomenon brings a flood of questions to his mind. Would he be as independent as he is now? He pictures himself, old as he is now, curled against his mother’s unfeeling side because he has never had the confidence to leave her and venture into the darkness. Would he use his wings at all? It would be hard to fly without the ability to see. How would he calculate when to land (something he is struggling with even while he can see the ground rushing up to meet him)? How would he avoid the other flighted creatures, or know when to ascend to avoid the treetops?
His chest feels warm and tight with a sudden appreciation for Catryn. She is bold in ways he probably wouldn’t be if he were in her place. “It’s scary at first. You feel like you’re falling and you’re not sure if your wings will carry you.” He remembers his first attempts, carefully moving his wings to gain a few feet of airspace. “It seems silly that some feathers can carry your whole body through the air.” Though her wings are billowing rays of the sun captured against her sides, Targaryen assumes they work much the same as his own.
He wants to tell her how brave she is, to explore the world while her eyes see only darkness. Targaryen opens his pale mouth to say the words but closes his mouth quickly after, worried that turning the conversation back toward her blindness and his curiosity will push her away.
@[Catryn]