04-25-2022, 11:22 PM
Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
Her head tilts so that her gaze might be cast upwards at the sound of the small bird trilling above her, considering the strangeness of it. Such a small bird should have been tucked away for the night, away from the threat of predators—mostly the larger, nocturnal birds, although the ruins were cloaked in such an eerie quiet she does not recall seeing any. She follows the path the bird cuts through the sky, watches as it makes its way to one of the ledges, and then comes to settle on a familiar shape.
There is a moment when she first sees the black coat and bright yellow eyes that her heart lurches, her pulse rushing in a quickened upswing before settling back into its usual rhythm.
She had not thought it was Atrox—she knows him too well in any and every shape—but the visceral reaction to seeing a panther poised above her had come anyway, a bone-deep thing that was now as much a part of her as breathing.
She knows too that this is not one of their children; he does not have the rose-gold rosettes of Iliana, the vivid eyes of Aislyn, or the smoldering frustration that Astin thought he could hide from her so well. She expects, then, to feel the vice-like grip of jealousy at the prospect of meeting a possible child of his that is not hers—and not Magnus—and is only mildly surprised to find that it does not come. She has never been an especially jealous creature; her life would have been far messier if she were. But, she also has never had what she has with Atrox before—someone that is exclusively hers, even if their road to becoming what they were now had been winding and broken.
But when she turns to fully face the stranger it is only curiosity in her dark eyes. Her trust in Atrox is infinite enough that she knows even if this is one of his children, it happened before she was something he could lose. Instead, she regards him with the same quiet caution she would most predators, and only asks him softly, “Who are you?”
There is a moment when she first sees the black coat and bright yellow eyes that her heart lurches, her pulse rushing in a quickened upswing before settling back into its usual rhythm.
She had not thought it was Atrox—she knows him too well in any and every shape—but the visceral reaction to seeing a panther poised above her had come anyway, a bone-deep thing that was now as much a part of her as breathing.
She knows too that this is not one of their children; he does not have the rose-gold rosettes of Iliana, the vivid eyes of Aislyn, or the smoldering frustration that Astin thought he could hide from her so well. She expects, then, to feel the vice-like grip of jealousy at the prospect of meeting a possible child of his that is not hers—and not Magnus—and is only mildly surprised to find that it does not come. She has never been an especially jealous creature; her life would have been far messier if she were. But, she also has never had what she has with Atrox before—someone that is exclusively hers, even if their road to becoming what they were now had been winding and broken.
But when she turns to fully face the stranger it is only curiosity in her dark eyes. Her trust in Atrox is infinite enough that she knows even if this is one of his children, it happened before she was something he could lose. Instead, she regards him with the same quiet caution she would most predators, and only asks him softly, “Who are you?”
AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE
@Ion