12-28-2017, 10:32 AM
like the sun swallowed up by the earth
A rumbling sigh transcends through his auburn chest and and his throat, falling from his lips and spreading into the morning haze as a plume of vapor, dissipating into the heavy humid air that grips them tight. At first, her declaration is one that brings him peace - the threat that once hovered over Tephra much like the obscuring and ever-billowing smoke from the mount, is whisked away in a simple phrase that leaves the alabaster of her familiar lips. Not only is Sylva no longer haunted by the white wraith and his never-ending sins, but Dahmer (a familiar face, loyal and trustworthy) has taken it under his preverbal wing, and Warrick knows without a doubt that the black stallion with ice in his gaze will nurse the forgotten land back to its former glory, and he muses to himself of an alliance that will be stronger than ever, if accepted.However, the tightness in her voice has not faded, and thus neither has the tension in his muscled shoulders as he rolls them, trying to shake the bitter feeling of dread that curls in the bottom of his stomach, leaving his heart beating wildly with anticipation. There is something more, something that sits upon the precipice and threatens to spill over with ferocity and frigidity, and it lingers in her bated breath that hovers soothingly over his auburn flesh longingly, as if it is the last time she will smell the wind and salt on his wings, or the smoke that is tangled within the thickness of his ebony mane. Warrick still stares out to the sea, afraid to meet the pleading look he know he will find in her eye if he were to turn to face her. He can feel the soft velvet of her lips against his shoulder, an attempt to bring his gaze to hers but he does not succumb, however tempting the gesture feels against his muscled flesh and instead his skin merely twitches with the expectation of what her next words will bring him.
Then, as if the words previous to her next phrase were meant to soften this final blow, she unleashes the reason she has found him in the early morning light,
‘Dahmer has asked me to come with him,’
He does not think his heart is breaking (his love for her will outlast any sort of ill-will he could think up to harbor against her), but he can feel a piece of himself, a sliver of him falling away, crackling and shattering with defeat and sadness. It is now that he turns to look at her, his eyes wide with concern and disbelief, the sharp angles of his face that once held indifference now falling away to the softness of sorrow, unmasked in the brightness of the morning light. The break he feels is familiar (it is much like what he feels when Tangerine leaves him for the spring and summer, with her need of changing scenery but always the promise to return), and he is not a stranger to the strong grip that now twists around his heart. His cerulean eyes click into place as he meets the gold-flecked of her one iris, and though he tries his best to remain stoic and resilient, he cannot hide the turmoil beneath his gaze.
No, he wants to tell her. No, you must stay - what if something happens? What if I need you? What if he cannot wield the sword of leadership without her steady guidance, the frigidity that she has that he often lacks? He is a weaker ruler without her, he knows, and the selfishness that tears through him nearly leaves his lips in fervor, wanting to give her a convincing argument for her to remain here, in Tephra, where she belongs. But as the winged-bay’s eyes trace over the sullen socket that attempts to see him though it no longer can, he swallows hard his words of desperation. The decision has already been made, and no amount of pleading or logical reasoning on his part would sway it. Part of her is already gone (though when it had been lost, he cannot place it) and she only remains here now to say goodbye to him, as all good friends do.
“You will always belong to Tephra, Ellyse.” His voice is rumbling with finality, intent on remaining unwavering and solid despite the ripple of uncertainty that plagues him. “But Sylva needs you, Dahmer needs you - and you need them. I trust your decision, as I have trusted all your decisions before.” A pause, and suddenly the formality of their conversation slips away and he reaches forward to brush a tendril of ivory forelock away from her pale-golden face, a tender gesture. “I will miss you,” he admits to her, with a softening in his voice that threatens to break.
Warrick
@[Ellyse]