Halyven
06-14-2018, 12:25 PM
You're just standing there—staring into the blackness, into the mouth of the rainy dark, but it doesn't spit any of them back in your face. There's no flash of the pale girl's cold eyes, no sign of K'yarie's softly glowing orbs, no hint of movement belonging to the stranger; there's nothing but the rain.
And it hurts.
It is a blow you hadn't been bracing for, a possibility you hadn't even considered: that they would choose to leave. Why should they? A herd meant safety, a herd meant a future, a herd meant family and friends. You have lost yours, in a land you doubt you can ever find again, and the idea that anyone would willingly walk away from it caught you by surprise.
You've always known everyone's different, driven by different things, haunted by different demons, but never has that knowledge tasted so bitter. You swallow. You won't leave, but you don't feel like going back to the circle of fire-light. You want to drift away into the heavy rain, to beat your wings against it, to fall—sickeningly, maddeningly, daringly—with the rain and break your death-sentence descent at the last moment.
You want to feel something other than this confused sense of loss and betrayal.
Roscorro looms next to you in the darkness, his muzzle touching your shoulder. He tries to comfort you, to make sense of what has just transpired, but you're just slowly shaking your head. You don't want to be sensible and forgiving.
But you bury that want—that need—too. "I'm staying," you reassure him, but your voice is rough, and had you said the words faster, they would've sounded like a snap. It's unlike you, but it's only natural that you change after what you've been through.
You don't like it, though. You cast a last glance into the darkness, before following the dragon back to the little shelter. You step into it, but you keep your eyes and head low, turned aside; your wings drop open, brushing against the stone floor. You barely hear the words they speak, your ears turned back. You're not capable of being hopeful, constructive, of moving on from what just happened.
The shit's piling up too high within you; if you don't start digging through it soon, it'll all come down on your head.
But not now. You blink desolately at the floor, letting them decide where to go, what to do. You'll follow, and you'll come around, but for now, you're just a shadow.
[ maybe get this wrapped up? :x sorry if you were waiting for me D; ]
And it hurts.
It is a blow you hadn't been bracing for, a possibility you hadn't even considered: that they would choose to leave. Why should they? A herd meant safety, a herd meant a future, a herd meant family and friends. You have lost yours, in a land you doubt you can ever find again, and the idea that anyone would willingly walk away from it caught you by surprise.
You've always known everyone's different, driven by different things, haunted by different demons, but never has that knowledge tasted so bitter. You swallow. You won't leave, but you don't feel like going back to the circle of fire-light. You want to drift away into the heavy rain, to beat your wings against it, to fall—sickeningly, maddeningly, daringly—with the rain and break your death-sentence descent at the last moment.
You want to feel something other than this confused sense of loss and betrayal.
Roscorro looms next to you in the darkness, his muzzle touching your shoulder. He tries to comfort you, to make sense of what has just transpired, but you're just slowly shaking your head. You don't want to be sensible and forgiving.
But you bury that want—that need—too. "I'm staying," you reassure him, but your voice is rough, and had you said the words faster, they would've sounded like a snap. It's unlike you, but it's only natural that you change after what you've been through.
You don't like it, though. You cast a last glance into the darkness, before following the dragon back to the little shelter. You step into it, but you keep your eyes and head low, turned aside; your wings drop open, brushing against the stone floor. You barely hear the words they speak, your ears turned back. You're not capable of being hopeful, constructive, of moving on from what just happened.
The shit's piling up too high within you; if you don't start digging through it soon, it'll all come down on your head.
But not now. You blink desolately at the floor, letting them decide where to go, what to do. You'll follow, and you'll come around, but for now, you're just a shadow.
[ maybe get this wrapped up? :x sorry if you were waiting for me D; ]
