Don't look back, nothing left to see
I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
I can feel you though, wake me from this dreamin
Their tension runs in circles, cycling the blame back and forth between them. He grinds flower petals between his teeth with much more viciousness than needed but there is nowhere else to expel this restless energy except for on the two mares behind him. Two mares that were exceptionally powerful in their own rights. So in a rare moment of wisdom, he continues to push forward through the brittle ruins and bite off the heads of flowers he had manifested that suddenly taste like ash on his tongue.
With his finely tipped ears still laced against his skull, he picks up pieces of the conversation behind him and snorts at the mention of “The Gray”. So Tarian the pegasus had survived and that was not surprising, being winged and all. Plus, prickly old coot that he was, he doubted the old guard would fall to something so trivial as the sea. He finally pauses in his massacre of flowers to turn back to them just as Aela stamps out her flames. “I’d be surprised if Oceane and that bear of hers weren’t holed up somewhere.” He finally says, keeping his blazing eyes trained on the golden Seneschal. “She’s a damn genie and isn’t he made for swimming?” He throws out before turning his back again before they can see the anger on his face. How easy for the magically blessed to survive. For those that weren't though... For those who had no wings or couldn't wish themselves away...
Sauntering further away from them, he misses the rest of their quiet exchange and finds he prefers it that way. The hunger ebbs away and the numbness steals back in, settling back in those wide empty spaces within him. Perhaps one day it would ease, this emotionless void, but some of it settles in those nooks and crannies that even a broom wouldn’t be able to reach. Unable to pull the unyielding cobwebs out.
His failure, the biggest of them all, was not something he would ever truly be able to forget.
Or forgive himself for.
If he was a man, he would be pressing his fingers to his temples and rubbing them with exasperation. Instead, all he can do is finally come to a standstill and close his eyes, his forehead crinkling with tension, as vivid dreams and confusing memories mingle and merge together until he can’t make sense where one starts and the other ends. He stands there until the others finally catch up to him. When they do, he exhales slowly and looks at them both. “We need somewhere to regroup, somewhere to rebuild.” Somewhere for the survivors that may still be drifting and lost to go, somewhere easy for them to be found for those that were searching as they were. “Aela we need a crash course in current political standings and what is open for the taking.” He finally says and there is nothing but cold calculation in the dark glittering depths of red. In this, at least, he can push everything else back and focus on a simple task. He and Aela had built something from nothing before (their ragtag band of misfits) and they would simply have to do it again, this time with Cheri regardless if she liked it or not.
Speaking of the former Queen… He glances at her and registers how fragile she still is despite the initial dose of healing he had given. There is no doubt that she would need more as well as rest. There was still something he wanted to do, something he needed to see for himself, alone. Yet regardless of his pressing doubt about the crystal mare, he stubbornly could not leave her in such a vulnerable position. He still remembers her fury at Gale with his mother bleeding before them. He still remembers the hazy whisper of dreams that curl against his mind like fog, ones where she had pressed against his chest like she had always belonged there. “Aela, can you take Cheri somewhere safe to rest? There’s something I need to do but I’ll catch up to you.” He pauses for a moment before meeting the golden mare’s gaze. “I promise.” Words he had never said aloud lightly for they would know there couldn’t possible be a lie hidden within.
With his finely tipped ears still laced against his skull, he picks up pieces of the conversation behind him and snorts at the mention of “The Gray”. So Tarian the pegasus had survived and that was not surprising, being winged and all. Plus, prickly old coot that he was, he doubted the old guard would fall to something so trivial as the sea. He finally pauses in his massacre of flowers to turn back to them just as Aela stamps out her flames. “I’d be surprised if Oceane and that bear of hers weren’t holed up somewhere.” He finally says, keeping his blazing eyes trained on the golden Seneschal. “She’s a damn genie and isn’t he made for swimming?” He throws out before turning his back again before they can see the anger on his face. How easy for the magically blessed to survive. For those that weren't though... For those who had no wings or couldn't wish themselves away...
Sauntering further away from them, he misses the rest of their quiet exchange and finds he prefers it that way. The hunger ebbs away and the numbness steals back in, settling back in those wide empty spaces within him. Perhaps one day it would ease, this emotionless void, but some of it settles in those nooks and crannies that even a broom wouldn’t be able to reach. Unable to pull the unyielding cobwebs out.
His failure, the biggest of them all, was not something he would ever truly be able to forget.
Or forgive himself for.
If he was a man, he would be pressing his fingers to his temples and rubbing them with exasperation. Instead, all he can do is finally come to a standstill and close his eyes, his forehead crinkling with tension, as vivid dreams and confusing memories mingle and merge together until he can’t make sense where one starts and the other ends. He stands there until the others finally catch up to him. When they do, he exhales slowly and looks at them both. “We need somewhere to regroup, somewhere to rebuild.” Somewhere for the survivors that may still be drifting and lost to go, somewhere easy for them to be found for those that were searching as they were. “Aela we need a crash course in current political standings and what is open for the taking.” He finally says and there is nothing but cold calculation in the dark glittering depths of red. In this, at least, he can push everything else back and focus on a simple task. He and Aela had built something from nothing before (their ragtag band of misfits) and they would simply have to do it again, this time with Cheri regardless if she liked it or not.
Speaking of the former Queen… He glances at her and registers how fragile she still is despite the initial dose of healing he had given. There is no doubt that she would need more as well as rest. There was still something he wanted to do, something he needed to see for himself, alone. Yet regardless of his pressing doubt about the crystal mare, he stubbornly could not leave her in such a vulnerable position. He still remembers her fury at Gale with his mother bleeding before them. He still remembers the hazy whisper of dreams that curl against his mind like fog, ones where she had pressed against his chest like she had always belonged there. “Aela, can you take Cheri somewhere safe to rest? There’s something I need to do but I’ll catch up to you.” He pauses for a moment before meeting the golden mare’s gaze. “I promise.” Words he had never said aloud lightly for they would know there couldn’t possible be a lie hidden within.
obscene
@Aela @Cheri
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