01-18-2021, 10:26 PM
stifled the choice and the air in my lungs;
better not to breathe than to breathe a lie
Tiercel supposes he could have announced the unwelcome presence of predators in a gentler way. He honestly hadn’t expected Ischia to be so isolated from the mainland and how news travels. The sounds and smells of the creatures (whatever they were) seemed to be all anyone could talk about, aside from the darkness, and Tiercel had assumed those conversations had already reached the islands.
It seems he was wrong.
He feels bad for her, mainly because of how her eyes flash with worry and how she becomes skeptical of the shadows around them. It doesn’t feel good to tell someone their home may not be safe, and Tiercel shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” he says quietly. “Perhaps they have not reached your islands if you haven’t heard them.” He wonders if children are still playing in the tropics’ wilderness or if their mothers have called them to their sides with the darkness pressing around them. It would make sense to draw your child close when the night lasts so long, even without the threat of predators stalking through the shadows.
Tiercel’s ears swivel at the thought of children — more a sign that he is thinking about something rather than listening past the whisper of the tide. If this darkness doesn’t go away soon, Islas will be having their child beneath a starless sky, and he may have to raise his child in the shadows. Will he have to teach the newborn to protect itself from what creatures stir in the night? Will the animals smell childbirth while Islas grows weary? Would he be able to protect both of them if it came down to it?
These questions and more are what had brought him on his walk, and the answers are what he hopes to find in Aquaria’s glowing face. Yet her response does little to soothe the worry that spreads under his skin like an itch he cannot scratch. Tiercel frowns at first, a look of confusion flashing across his cerulean eyes. He has never been an island boy, or even a swimmer until most recently, and her wisdom doesn’t transfer into a deeper meaning.
His dark navy mouth opens to reply when Aquaria continues, this time with the advice he can understand. And whether she thinks it is silly or not, Tiercel finds that her words help. Even without telling her the lengthy extent of his troubles, she has said something that fits. His frown brightens into something warmer and thoughtful. “I have someone who depends on me,” he admits.
As much as he wants to tell her more — tell her about Islas and the worry he feels over her pregnancy, tell her about how he isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a father yet, tell her about how badly he wishes the sun would shine again — Tiercel can see the tension that lines the scaled mare’s face. Hesitantly, he sends gentle fingers of serenity to ease the anxiety and stress from her muscles. This emotion feels different from the first; it is free-flowing, an emotion she can choose to accept or decline. “You must have a lot of islanders who depend on you. How can I help you relax, Aquaria?”
It seems he was wrong.
He feels bad for her, mainly because of how her eyes flash with worry and how she becomes skeptical of the shadows around them. It doesn’t feel good to tell someone their home may not be safe, and Tiercel shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you,” he says quietly. “Perhaps they have not reached your islands if you haven’t heard them.” He wonders if children are still playing in the tropics’ wilderness or if their mothers have called them to their sides with the darkness pressing around them. It would make sense to draw your child close when the night lasts so long, even without the threat of predators stalking through the shadows.
Tiercel’s ears swivel at the thought of children — more a sign that he is thinking about something rather than listening past the whisper of the tide. If this darkness doesn’t go away soon, Islas will be having their child beneath a starless sky, and he may have to raise his child in the shadows. Will he have to teach the newborn to protect itself from what creatures stir in the night? Will the animals smell childbirth while Islas grows weary? Would he be able to protect both of them if it came down to it?
These questions and more are what had brought him on his walk, and the answers are what he hopes to find in Aquaria’s glowing face. Yet her response does little to soothe the worry that spreads under his skin like an itch he cannot scratch. Tiercel frowns at first, a look of confusion flashing across his cerulean eyes. He has never been an island boy, or even a swimmer until most recently, and her wisdom doesn’t transfer into a deeper meaning.
His dark navy mouth opens to reply when Aquaria continues, this time with the advice he can understand. And whether she thinks it is silly or not, Tiercel finds that her words help. Even without telling her the lengthy extent of his troubles, she has said something that fits. His frown brightens into something warmer and thoughtful. “I have someone who depends on me,” he admits.
As much as he wants to tell her more — tell her about Islas and the worry he feels over her pregnancy, tell her about how he isn’t sure if he’s ready to be a father yet, tell her about how badly he wishes the sun would shine again — Tiercel can see the tension that lines the scaled mare’s face. Hesitantly, he sends gentle fingers of serenity to ease the anxiety and stress from her muscles. This emotion feels different from the first; it is free-flowing, an emotion she can choose to accept or decline. “You must have a lot of islanders who depend on you. How can I help you relax, Aquaria?”
tiercel.
@[Aquaria]