Tar Pits
12-03-2017, 07:14 AM
If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
You can hide underneath me and come out at night
Taivas never faced inner demons such that Roscorro is facing now.
She struggles with the typical insecurities of a young girl, coming of age, especially in the shadow of her parents. Their presence felt larger than life most days. Father held the most respected title of their clan, and mother remained unrivaled in her healing aptitude since her arrival into the Fields. Even her brother grew quickly into the favor of the Elders due to his rare ability to wield starfire.
Then, there stood the looming knowledge that her peers disliked her. A quiet girl, one who connected with the spirits early, became the target of gossip and envy but never of friendship.
Still, for the most part, Taivas kept her self-esteem high. She chose to protect her soft-heart by a cold exterior. What started out as simply being shy and reserved became a defensive shell, a barrier to prevent others from digging too closely, too dangerously into her heart. The deception fooled even herself, for the shaman no longer sought friendships. She no longer hoped for attachments. She simply provided what she could for others, expecting nothing in return.
Yet, as the night sky of her eyes watches the pain, confusion, and doubt swirl openly across Roscorro's face, she feels it. Deep in the pit of her chest, she feels the chill of fear - not the mortal fear felt upon their first night meeting in the Portal. Fear for someone else, the spikes of ice working their way dangerously in her heart, causing tension to pull and tug her normally placid expression into a mannequin's version of worry. Her eyes feel heavy and warm, like tears threaten to make their way through her pallid lashes and fall on the sullen face of the dragonboy.
The gaze meeting hers feels empty, like the presence of his soul had gone missing before she arrived. The shaman tries not to panic as she gazes at him from her perch upon the sand. "Roscorro?" she tries again, as a breath shudders from his lungs. Something within him collapses then, the girl suspects, but instead of crashing down into the sand in defeat, a strange sort of expression fills his face.
Tilting her head slightly, the moonlit girl tries to piece together what he was feeling - what was wrong, how she could help. Anything to save her from the anxiety building in her body.
Upon her bent knees, his face is brought to rest, cradled gently on her limbs as they lay together in the sand. The warm breath expelled from his lungs tickles her chest, and Taivas blinks rapidly. Never before had she been so close to another who was not her family. However, being able carry his weight, even this much, melts the spikes of ice pooled around her heart. At the very least, she could console her friend like this.
The voice that comes from his weakly parted lips is small and frail, but the emotion carried upon the sound of her own name makes a tear, matching his own, well in the corner of her eye.
"Rest, my friend," she says simply, reaching down gently to brush his long forelock from his face with her velveteen muzzle. "I will watch over you."
She struggles with the typical insecurities of a young girl, coming of age, especially in the shadow of her parents. Their presence felt larger than life most days. Father held the most respected title of their clan, and mother remained unrivaled in her healing aptitude since her arrival into the Fields. Even her brother grew quickly into the favor of the Elders due to his rare ability to wield starfire.
Then, there stood the looming knowledge that her peers disliked her. A quiet girl, one who connected with the spirits early, became the target of gossip and envy but never of friendship.
Still, for the most part, Taivas kept her self-esteem high. She chose to protect her soft-heart by a cold exterior. What started out as simply being shy and reserved became a defensive shell, a barrier to prevent others from digging too closely, too dangerously into her heart. The deception fooled even herself, for the shaman no longer sought friendships. She no longer hoped for attachments. She simply provided what she could for others, expecting nothing in return.
Yet, as the night sky of her eyes watches the pain, confusion, and doubt swirl openly across Roscorro's face, she feels it. Deep in the pit of her chest, she feels the chill of fear - not the mortal fear felt upon their first night meeting in the Portal. Fear for someone else, the spikes of ice working their way dangerously in her heart, causing tension to pull and tug her normally placid expression into a mannequin's version of worry. Her eyes feel heavy and warm, like tears threaten to make their way through her pallid lashes and fall on the sullen face of the dragonboy.
The gaze meeting hers feels empty, like the presence of his soul had gone missing before she arrived. The shaman tries not to panic as she gazes at him from her perch upon the sand. "Roscorro?" she tries again, as a breath shudders from his lungs. Something within him collapses then, the girl suspects, but instead of crashing down into the sand in defeat, a strange sort of expression fills his face.
Tilting her head slightly, the moonlit girl tries to piece together what he was feeling - what was wrong, how she could help. Anything to save her from the anxiety building in her body.
Upon her bent knees, his face is brought to rest, cradled gently on her limbs as they lay together in the sand. The warm breath expelled from his lungs tickles her chest, and Taivas blinks rapidly. Never before had she been so close to another who was not her family. However, being able carry his weight, even this much, melts the spikes of ice pooled around her heart. At the very least, she could console her friend like this.
The voice that comes from his weakly parted lips is small and frail, but the emotion carried upon the sound of her own name makes a tear, matching his own, well in the corner of her eye.
"Rest, my friend," she says simply, reaching down gently to brush his long forelock from his face with her velveteen muzzle. "I will watch over you."
When I turn jet black, and you show off your light
I live to let you shine
I live to let you shine
Taivas
