06-27-2017, 01:04 PM
don't put my love on your back burner; never let anything that hot get cold
There is a darkness in his eyes – disdain; an acrid and bitter taste left in his mouth. The salty brine of the sea stirred nothing but frustration within him, and an uncomfortable twitching within the hollow bone of his useless wings, which lay tucked against the broad curve of his flank. With the tips of his feathers dissolved into dust, he is grounded, though the wanderlust stirs restlessly within his veins – the golden flecks of his eyes gleaming beneath the pale light of the sun as he searches the bright and empty sky.
He is quiet – unusually so; he has nothing to say.
His heart is longing to be elsewhere, to be pressed close to the emerald of his lover’s skin, his cheek against the soft waves of her navy tresses – to be with his young sons, seeing the world through their eyes (no wanderlust could tear him away from their youth – so beautiful, and innocent).
Yet he is here, captive, for something far beyond his own control.
When she finally beckons him forth from the dark, damp confinement of the cave, he is wary (she is unpredictable), but quietly, he becomes her shadow, as the light of morning touches the deep gold of his skin. He is led through a long and winding pathway of brush and wilting fauna – but his heart is soon pounding within his chest, his eyes wide and disbelieving at the unnatural stone formation lay before him – daunting.
A glance is given to his captor, who is wry and smug, her lips pressed against his ear (he would shiver, but he is too angry, too tense), intimidation interlaced within each word.
He is no warrior (he is not his father, carved from battle and war-born – but it is in his blood), and dread has already begun to fill him – but reluctantly, he enters the fray, hazel eyes searching the unfamiliar faces.
He presses close to the stone barrier, his hip touching the frigid rock formation as the adrenaline courses through his body with sudden vigor; he is aware of the many eyes settled upon him. A target. He had hoped to conceal the prowess of his power from his captor, but there is no longer any choice.
A wind manipulator (harnessing the powerful gusts that descend from the sweeping sea), he wields the thick of the atmosphere with a heavy toss of his neck, creating a nearly invisible orb of churning, rotating wind, before rearing onto his hindlegs and pounding his forelegs into the soil, splitting the orb into many, aiming to strike any that may come near him.
He is quiet – unusually so; he has nothing to say.
His heart is longing to be elsewhere, to be pressed close to the emerald of his lover’s skin, his cheek against the soft waves of her navy tresses – to be with his young sons, seeing the world through their eyes (no wanderlust could tear him away from their youth – so beautiful, and innocent).
Yet he is here, captive, for something far beyond his own control.
When she finally beckons him forth from the dark, damp confinement of the cave, he is wary (she is unpredictable), but quietly, he becomes her shadow, as the light of morning touches the deep gold of his skin. He is led through a long and winding pathway of brush and wilting fauna – but his heart is soon pounding within his chest, his eyes wide and disbelieving at the unnatural stone formation lay before him – daunting.
A glance is given to his captor, who is wry and smug, her lips pressed against his ear (he would shiver, but he is too angry, too tense), intimidation interlaced within each word.
He is no warrior (he is not his father, carved from battle and war-born – but it is in his blood), and dread has already begun to fill him – but reluctantly, he enters the fray, hazel eyes searching the unfamiliar faces.
He presses close to the stone barrier, his hip touching the frigid rock formation as the adrenaline courses through his body with sudden vigor; he is aware of the many eyes settled upon him. A target. He had hoped to conceal the prowess of his power from his captor, but there is no longer any choice.
A wind manipulator (harnessing the powerful gusts that descend from the sweeping sea), he wields the thick of the atmosphere with a heavy toss of his neck, creating a nearly invisible orb of churning, rotating wind, before rearing onto his hindlegs and pounding his forelegs into the soil, splitting the orb into many, aiming to strike any that may come near him.
CANAAN
(son of magnus & ellyse)
Edited to add: Feel free to hurt him. No death.