05-04-2021, 10:41 PM
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It feels as if an eternity stretches between his explanation and Cheri’s response. Although it is only a brisk moment in their lives, Targaryen’s mind moves so quickly it might as well have been years. Doubt prickles at the back of his mind, unwelcome but bold. What will he do if she shuns him? He isn’t sure he can handle staying in Taiga, knowing that she’s angry at him. He isn’t sure if he could face Yanhua and explain that he’d hurt Cheri. He doesn’t know where to go, aside from that lonely woodland where his mother stands.
And it is these thoughts — that he doesn’t know where to go, that he can’t handle looking Cheri in the eyes and seeing her anger — that echo in his mind while the seconds slowly tick.
When her answer is warm and her smile even warmer, Targaryen is relieved. He is suddenly embarrassed at his doubt, at the way his mind had raced to come up with an escape plan. He should have known better. Cheri has always accepted him, always healed him, always welcomed him. He could have expected her to give him a smile that stops his heart. When has she ever pushed him away?
In fact, she does exactly the opposite after soothing his worries. Lost in the dark, lost to delirium, the woods had often looked like Cheri’s slender face, and the dying brush had felt like her soft touch. He had dreamed of her embrace and how their wings brushed against each other while they ran together. Targaryen had thought the images and memories felt sweeter because of their distance, but as Cheri tucks herself into his shoulder, he cannot imagine anything feeling nicer.
He can feel their overwhelming heat combining, but her dainty nose brushing against his feathers and the soft touch of her shoulder to his chest overpowers his concern. Ever since he officially moved to Taiga, Cheri’s touch has ignited something the stallion can’t quite identify. Perhaps if he knew his older brothers or even his dad, he might be able to put a name to the intensity he feels. She draws the tightness in his chest and the heat rising from his skin from their respective places, making it migrate someplace he isn’t expecting.
It makes him feel primal. It makes him force his eyes up toward the perfect blue sky, lest the drift toward the young curve of her spine. Targaryen feels like there is something wrong, but deeper than that, he feels something very right. He’s grateful when Cheri moves away, fearful of a storm that seems to brew inside him. The heat lingers, but his friend’s remorse draws his attention away.
The tobiano might’ve joked about being a ghost, but the sadness that darkens Cheri’s eyes stops him. “It sounds like we both had an adventure.” He watches her quietly for a moment, studying the lines of her face. Her expression slowly changes from regret to thoughtfulness, and he wonders what she is thinking about. He’s about to ask when she suddenly looks away from and at him. At first, Targaryen’s eyes follow hers out toward the meadow, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
When his brown gaze finds hers again, there’s a question in them. It’s a big question, one that might unfurl something beyond their knowledge, and Targaryen knows he isn’t ready to ask it yet. So instead, he says, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun, I don’t even know what to do.”
And it is these thoughts — that he doesn’t know where to go, that he can’t handle looking Cheri in the eyes and seeing her anger — that echo in his mind while the seconds slowly tick.
When her answer is warm and her smile even warmer, Targaryen is relieved. He is suddenly embarrassed at his doubt, at the way his mind had raced to come up with an escape plan. He should have known better. Cheri has always accepted him, always healed him, always welcomed him. He could have expected her to give him a smile that stops his heart. When has she ever pushed him away?
In fact, she does exactly the opposite after soothing his worries. Lost in the dark, lost to delirium, the woods had often looked like Cheri’s slender face, and the dying brush had felt like her soft touch. He had dreamed of her embrace and how their wings brushed against each other while they ran together. Targaryen had thought the images and memories felt sweeter because of their distance, but as Cheri tucks herself into his shoulder, he cannot imagine anything feeling nicer.
He can feel their overwhelming heat combining, but her dainty nose brushing against his feathers and the soft touch of her shoulder to his chest overpowers his concern. Ever since he officially moved to Taiga, Cheri’s touch has ignited something the stallion can’t quite identify. Perhaps if he knew his older brothers or even his dad, he might be able to put a name to the intensity he feels. She draws the tightness in his chest and the heat rising from his skin from their respective places, making it migrate someplace he isn’t expecting.
It makes him feel primal. It makes him force his eyes up toward the perfect blue sky, lest the drift toward the young curve of her spine. Targaryen feels like there is something wrong, but deeper than that, he feels something very right. He’s grateful when Cheri moves away, fearful of a storm that seems to brew inside him. The heat lingers, but his friend’s remorse draws his attention away.
The tobiano might’ve joked about being a ghost, but the sadness that darkens Cheri’s eyes stops him. “It sounds like we both had an adventure.” He watches her quietly for a moment, studying the lines of her face. Her expression slowly changes from regret to thoughtfulness, and he wonders what she is thinking about. He’s about to ask when she suddenly looks away from and at him. At first, Targaryen’s eyes follow hers out toward the meadow, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
When his brown gaze finds hers again, there’s a question in them. It’s a big question, one that might unfurl something beyond their knowledge, and Targaryen knows he isn’t ready to ask it yet. So instead, he says, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sun, I don’t even know what to do.”
@[Cheri]