you wear me out, pteron

[Pteron]

finger trips across my cheek----------------
----------------kiss me until i can't speak

Each breath might be his last, so Pteron savors each one, the cool evening air sliding down his throat, flavored by the water of the river and the brightness of fresh summer growth. His ears flick toward Ghaul when the creature chitters in his throat, and his breath catches as sharp teeth pierce his temple. A shallow wound, but his skin is thin there, and a crimson line trickles down his pale cheek. The flesh mends quickly, but it stings long after. Biting, that he is accustomed too, though Reia uses it to keep him in line, and Ghaul has bitten him for…well, Pteron is not sure exactly. Fun? Dominance?

He asks about stars, about why Pteron likes them, and the dun pauses for a long moment. He pauses long enough that Ghaul tells him why he likes his wings, and Pteron swallows audibly. There are a great many things from which he can recover, but he is not quite sure how feasible life after consumption might be. He’s seen pieces of his flesh on the red clay of Loess before, left them behind when he moved away without a mark on him. But how fast can he heal? Where does he heal from? The answers to these questions seem far more immediately important than why he likes stars. Pteron knows better to delay though, an overlong pause is nearly as bad as the wrong answer.

“They’re lights in the sky at night. Like fireflies, but always bright, and no matter how high I fly they never seem any closer.” He has tried, many times, and each time the air becomes too cold or his head too light, and he regains consciousness while tumbling back to the earth. Too far, he’s found; some things are beyond his reach.

“Please do not eat them,” he adds, knowing that his voice trembles but unable to control it. “You could have some feathers, but I like that they are attached to me.”

-- pteron --

@[ghaul]