10-24-2021, 08:12 PM
Her wide smile vanishes and Malik feels inexplicably distressed. He has developed little empathy, raised by a cursed father and an unpredictable mother, and thinking only of himself is how he has survived to his present age. What little affection he does feel is toward those same parents, by merit of blood and their constant presence in his childhood, as well as toward the only sister he knows.
Myrna looks little like this young horse who calls herself Sickle. Yet as Malik allows his blue and orange eyes to travel once more across the mare, he sees what he had missed before. She looks like horses who are familiar to him, like his mother and father and sister and even himself.
Sickle’s voice is small and weak, and the glittering tears that pool in her eyes make him uncomfortable. He caves easily to Myrna’s tears, but tells himself that this is different. She’s a stranger to him, and surely if their parents had thought her worth keeping around she would have been living in Hyaline.
But she had shown such a skill at shifting, and Malik cannot fathom that such an ability was not worth keeping within the pack. Shifters get a choice, his mother had said. Had she chosen to leave, maybe? But when? She looks only a little older than Malik, and surely he’d have been told if he had a twin who was sent away. His father might have kept that from him, but never his mother. Even at the worst of her cruelty, she was honest with him. Viciously so at times, and so he is quite aware of how much better Sickle’s shifting abilities are than his own.
He sees the horror in her eyes, and hears the inexplicable pain in her voice as she asks ‘What did they do to you?’ Does she mean their parents? Had they been cruel to her as well? Myrna has known only their mother’s sorrowful tenderness, leaving Malik often wondering if his memories had perhaps over-exaggerated the fears of his childhood. Sickle’s expression suggests that he has not, and it causes something uncomfortable and sharp to tighten in his belly.
“I’m fine.” He says. He has no more scars than a young warrior-in-training might, scuffs from mock battle and sparring matches with the other young colts in the pack. He’s still frowning, but as he sees the shimmer of unshed tears in Sickle’s eyes, he experiences once again the concern he is accustomed to feeling only for his family.
“Why don’t you live in Hyaline?” He asks. “Did you leave? Or did you get kicked out?” If he knows why his parents had not kept her close, perhaps then he will understand better how to feel about her.
@Sickle
Myrna looks little like this young horse who calls herself Sickle. Yet as Malik allows his blue and orange eyes to travel once more across the mare, he sees what he had missed before. She looks like horses who are familiar to him, like his mother and father and sister and even himself.
Sickle’s voice is small and weak, and the glittering tears that pool in her eyes make him uncomfortable. He caves easily to Myrna’s tears, but tells himself that this is different. She’s a stranger to him, and surely if their parents had thought her worth keeping around she would have been living in Hyaline.
But she had shown such a skill at shifting, and Malik cannot fathom that such an ability was not worth keeping within the pack. Shifters get a choice, his mother had said. Had she chosen to leave, maybe? But when? She looks only a little older than Malik, and surely he’d have been told if he had a twin who was sent away. His father might have kept that from him, but never his mother. Even at the worst of her cruelty, she was honest with him. Viciously so at times, and so he is quite aware of how much better Sickle’s shifting abilities are than his own.
He sees the horror in her eyes, and hears the inexplicable pain in her voice as she asks ‘What did they do to you?’ Does she mean their parents? Had they been cruel to her as well? Myrna has known only their mother’s sorrowful tenderness, leaving Malik often wondering if his memories had perhaps over-exaggerated the fears of his childhood. Sickle’s expression suggests that he has not, and it causes something uncomfortable and sharp to tighten in his belly.
“I’m fine.” He says. He has no more scars than a young warrior-in-training might, scuffs from mock battle and sparring matches with the other young colts in the pack. He’s still frowning, but as he sees the shimmer of unshed tears in Sickle’s eyes, he experiences once again the concern he is accustomed to feeling only for his family.
“Why don’t you live in Hyaline?” He asks. “Did you leave? Or did you get kicked out?” If he knows why his parents had not kept her close, perhaps then he will understand better how to feel about her.
@Sickle