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Targaryen hasn’t experienced fear quite like what he feels in this particular darkness. Even when he had been running from the predator in the Forest, even when he got himself stuck and knew his mother wouldn’t help him, even when Yanhua had stared into his eyes with such a serious look Targaryen thought he might cry — none of these experiences ignite the same level of apprehension that rests in his belly with the darkness. It hadn’t spooked him before he came to Taiga. Somehow he hadn’t come across a monster until he arrived in the redwoods, and he thinks it is the knowledge that things are lurking that makes him nervous.
But with Cheri, he feels safe. They have traded heroism between them, saved each other’s lives, knit one another together by showing up in a time of need. Targaryen knows that she will fight for him if he needs it, and it goes without saying that he would do the same. He can relax in her warm presence, and the shadows do not feel as menacing with her dark body next to his. Even as she admits to an adventurous streak (he should have known better than assuming she preferred staying on well-known routes; after all, she had found him in the middle of the night after straying from her father), he feels her contentment saturate him.
Targaryen’s brown eye does catch her green one, and his smile is radiant in Cheri’s luminescence. Though he had admired her face a moment before, he can see even more details from this close. He can see the lines of exhaustion drawn across the ink of her face, the concave shapes below her eyes that insomnia presses there, the haunted expression that lingers just behind the brilliant green of her eyes. Targaryen can’t imagine she has been sleeping well; he has been woken by nightmares of the monster plenty of times. The hidden signs of fatigue make him want to pull her close and settle them in a soft bed of clover where they can dream together until the sun finally comes back.
But Cheri has already suggested a tour of Taiga, he has already agreed, and the happiness that dances in her eyes tells him that she would prefer a distraction.
So Targaryen lets his smile get wider, and he bumps her inky shoulder again, this time a little harder. Her skin is warm and soft against his, and his shoulder tingles wherever they have touched. Instead of focusing on the sensation, the winged boy contemplates his choices. He has been sticking to the forests lately, hoping the undergrowth and wide-trunked redwoods will dissuade anything from attacking him while his back is turned. He hasn’t been brave enough to venture into the open by himself, although he knows the emptiness would have given him more room to run… Or more room for multiple monsters to attack him at once.
But Cheri’s presence is an encouragement, a warrior cry that he can sneak into the open unharmed. So he lifts his chin and peers into the darkness with confidence he doesn’t have yet but hopes he will be able to achieve one day. “Show me your favorite places in the open, Cheri. I want to see the things you love.”
But with Cheri, he feels safe. They have traded heroism between them, saved each other’s lives, knit one another together by showing up in a time of need. Targaryen knows that she will fight for him if he needs it, and it goes without saying that he would do the same. He can relax in her warm presence, and the shadows do not feel as menacing with her dark body next to his. Even as she admits to an adventurous streak (he should have known better than assuming she preferred staying on well-known routes; after all, she had found him in the middle of the night after straying from her father), he feels her contentment saturate him.
Targaryen’s brown eye does catch her green one, and his smile is radiant in Cheri’s luminescence. Though he had admired her face a moment before, he can see even more details from this close. He can see the lines of exhaustion drawn across the ink of her face, the concave shapes below her eyes that insomnia presses there, the haunted expression that lingers just behind the brilliant green of her eyes. Targaryen can’t imagine she has been sleeping well; he has been woken by nightmares of the monster plenty of times. The hidden signs of fatigue make him want to pull her close and settle them in a soft bed of clover where they can dream together until the sun finally comes back.
But Cheri has already suggested a tour of Taiga, he has already agreed, and the happiness that dances in her eyes tells him that she would prefer a distraction.
So Targaryen lets his smile get wider, and he bumps her inky shoulder again, this time a little harder. Her skin is warm and soft against his, and his shoulder tingles wherever they have touched. Instead of focusing on the sensation, the winged boy contemplates his choices. He has been sticking to the forests lately, hoping the undergrowth and wide-trunked redwoods will dissuade anything from attacking him while his back is turned. He hasn’t been brave enough to venture into the open by himself, although he knows the emptiness would have given him more room to run… Or more room for multiple monsters to attack him at once.
But Cheri’s presence is an encouragement, a warrior cry that he can sneak into the open unharmed. So he lifts his chin and peers into the darkness with confidence he doesn’t have yet but hopes he will be able to achieve one day. “Show me your favorite places in the open, Cheri. I want to see the things you love.”
@[Cheri]