11-06-2021, 10:35 AM
Malik had liked to watch rain falling on the lava flows, to see the way the water would hiss and boil, returning to the sky as steam, only to eventually fall again. He’d disliked the sounds of the jungle’s howler monkeys, and had usually slept as a leopard for the sole purpose of keeping them quiet and wary of his scent. He had visited Loess as a young mamoose, and met a kraken at the edge of the ocean.
The memories return piecemeal, little flashes here and there, falling like individual raindrops and eventually coalescing into a flood of understanding. He chokes, because the memories of his second - more recent - childhood are far harsher than those of his first.
He remembers Sickle now. Remembers her, and Wishbone, and all the parts of his time in Hyaline that his father had made him forget. Malik shivers, the ache of long-healed wounds almost tangible along his skin. His mother loves him, says a voice in the back of his mind. His father had said it too, though far less often than his modified memories had led him to believe.
He takes a long breath, and breathes it out slowly. Sweat beads along his dark skin, glittering in the light emanating from his black hide.
Reeling still, the answer he gives to her first question is nonsensical, mumbling and half-words as he deals with the reorganization of his history. He remembers now, is the gist of it, and their father’s magic had made him forget. The second question seems to shake him from his babbling, and his mismatched eyes move up to meet hers, blue to blue and orange to orange.
He takes another deep breath, feeling somehow much calmer than a moment before.
“My little sister. ” He answers, and then amends: “Our little sister.” She’s probably back with their mother by this time of night, though he’d left her chasing after Bolder earlier in the afternoon. Malik glances up at the sky, where the streaks of light grow ever dimmer through the bare branches overhead.
He's glad his father had made him forget. Malik doesn't understand why he'd suffered so, but it must have been for his own good. It had been to make him stronger, deadlier, more powerful. His mother has been teaching him restraint of late, and he has done his best to listen, but the two ideologies have not yet come to odds.
“He’s gone now.” Malik finally says when he looks back down at his sister. “Maybe that’s why Mo - Mazikeen is better too.” He’d thought it was because Myrna was a better shifter than he’d been, but perhaps that is not so. “You could come see her,” he suggests. “Decide for yourself if she’s changed.”
Shifters get a choice, his mother had said.
@Sickle
The memories return piecemeal, little flashes here and there, falling like individual raindrops and eventually coalescing into a flood of understanding. He chokes, because the memories of his second - more recent - childhood are far harsher than those of his first.
He remembers Sickle now. Remembers her, and Wishbone, and all the parts of his time in Hyaline that his father had made him forget. Malik shivers, the ache of long-healed wounds almost tangible along his skin. His mother loves him, says a voice in the back of his mind. His father had said it too, though far less often than his modified memories had led him to believe.
He takes a long breath, and breathes it out slowly. Sweat beads along his dark skin, glittering in the light emanating from his black hide.
Reeling still, the answer he gives to her first question is nonsensical, mumbling and half-words as he deals with the reorganization of his history. He remembers now, is the gist of it, and their father’s magic had made him forget. The second question seems to shake him from his babbling, and his mismatched eyes move up to meet hers, blue to blue and orange to orange.
He takes another deep breath, feeling somehow much calmer than a moment before.
“My little sister. ” He answers, and then amends: “Our little sister.” She’s probably back with their mother by this time of night, though he’d left her chasing after Bolder earlier in the afternoon. Malik glances up at the sky, where the streaks of light grow ever dimmer through the bare branches overhead.
He's glad his father had made him forget. Malik doesn't understand why he'd suffered so, but it must have been for his own good. It had been to make him stronger, deadlier, more powerful. His mother has been teaching him restraint of late, and he has done his best to listen, but the two ideologies have not yet come to odds.
“He’s gone now.” Malik finally says when he looks back down at his sister. “Maybe that’s why Mo - Mazikeen is better too.” He’d thought it was because Myrna was a better shifter than he’d been, but perhaps that is not so. “You could come see her,” he suggests. “Decide for yourself if she’s changed.”
Shifters get a choice, his mother had said.
@Sickle