03-24-2020, 08:19 AM
He knows there is something wrong when she comes to him - something that hides behind her lips as she kisses the center of his forehead as she had done so many times when he was young. He can almost feel the pain that lies behind her smile as she pulls away to look at him. The guilt of being gone - disappearing as he does into the arms of the sea - stings like urchin venom on his tongue.
He cannot explain the hurt he feels each time he comes home. Each time he leaves he misses more and more, but he cannot help the pull of the sea like the waves can’t help the pull of the moon. His armored scales quickly dry and become itchy when he is away from the water for too long. He used to wonder as a child why his mother’s scales were more adapted to life on land. He remembers coming home to the den caked in mud in an effort to ease his discomfort. He hadn’t been much older than the colt that peers at him from behind their mother.
Dacre offers that awkward smile that is always toothy and far too wide. Dacre had been less confident than Eucharist seems to be when he was his age. Although, Dacre never had the ability to read minds. He imagines knowing the thoughts of others might have helped him understand the things he saw as a child casting furtive glances from behind his mom - that maybe he could have been more helpful when his mother confronted Adna and Bethlehem in the forests of Taiga that day. But even still, he was just a boy wobbly on his legs.
“It is nice to meet you, brother.” he says with a gentle dip of his head.
Sabbath turns to him again, her eyes downcast as she tells him his sister is gone. Dacre cannot help but clench his needle teeth so hard they threaten to break beneath the instantaneous pain he feels at her words.
It’s in their blood to feel their emotions deeply - to call for blood when someone has wronged them - to gnash teeth before reason has a chance to quell the passion in the hearts. He may not have been close to Prayer, but this… this hurts.
He wants to hurt it back.
“Who?” he manages to ask as he brushes his nose across his mother’s wetted cheek.
@[Sabbath]
He cannot explain the hurt he feels each time he comes home. Each time he leaves he misses more and more, but he cannot help the pull of the sea like the waves can’t help the pull of the moon. His armored scales quickly dry and become itchy when he is away from the water for too long. He used to wonder as a child why his mother’s scales were more adapted to life on land. He remembers coming home to the den caked in mud in an effort to ease his discomfort. He hadn’t been much older than the colt that peers at him from behind their mother.
Dacre offers that awkward smile that is always toothy and far too wide. Dacre had been less confident than Eucharist seems to be when he was his age. Although, Dacre never had the ability to read minds. He imagines knowing the thoughts of others might have helped him understand the things he saw as a child casting furtive glances from behind his mom - that maybe he could have been more helpful when his mother confronted Adna and Bethlehem in the forests of Taiga that day. But even still, he was just a boy wobbly on his legs.
“It is nice to meet you, brother.” he says with a gentle dip of his head.
Sabbath turns to him again, her eyes downcast as she tells him his sister is gone. Dacre cannot help but clench his needle teeth so hard they threaten to break beneath the instantaneous pain he feels at her words.
It’s in their blood to feel their emotions deeply - to call for blood when someone has wronged them - to gnash teeth before reason has a chance to quell the passion in the hearts. He may not have been close to Prayer, but this… this hurts.
He wants to hurt it back.
“Who?” he manages to ask as he brushes his nose across his mother’s wetted cheek.
@[Sabbath]