|
|
Post by unifangs on Mar 26, 2018 23:34:26 GMT -6
She wanted to bite her tongue,to let her blunt teeth split it open and let nothing but the tang of metallic red to coat her tongue. To bleed, to bruise.. It was better than this. Monotonous, boring this. She stared out a vast nothingness. Nothing. NOTHING. N O T H I N G. That was all there is. Frustration roiled into rage and the frigidity of her persona couldn’t suffocate the inferno blazing under her skin. Her teeth grinded together but then she paused. Her rage went quiet and she clutched her bow in her teke. Dove had not survived so long in the wilds with idle hands.
Dove whipped around and lifted her bow high before a frown etched over her lips. ”It is beyond be that you have not been struck down,” she said, her words harsh and laced with venom. Still.. There was an undeniable sense of relief at a familiar face, one who had shared in the weight of their clans’ downfalls. “But I guess I can’t complain about the fact that you are alive.” Her voice nearly dropped to a whisper, never fully admitting she felt compelled to run and embrace the familiar face, to take in the warmth of another body and return to the side of a friend, a word she couldn’t let roll off her tongue so easily.
Post: 1 WC: 226 |
|
|
|
Post by manabuns on Mar 28, 2018 17:18:26 GMT -6
give me time and give me space There is nothing more maddening than absence, when there should be something. There should be a dull buzz, the muttered and muted sound of voices, the creak of wood and the distant clang of a hammer. There should be four walls of wood and ice, the crackle of a fire and a table, covered in paper as strong equines huddled over it.
Instead, there is this, the long stretch of silence filled with the howling wind and the sound of his own rattled breath. He could almost hear each individual grain of sand, as it dropped into the bottom of the hour glass. A maddening plink which reminded him that he idled, when time moved on. The cold bit at his ears and pulled at his tangled hair, nipped at the scarred parts of him not hidden beneath a cloak of white fur. Made the already sensitive scars upon his flesh even more agitated.
It made him itch. On the outside, he remained as he always did. On the inside he clawed at himself.
It is beyond be that you have not been struck down.
Iskalder is not surprised to find her here, bow in teke. Dove is like him in many ways, they share the familiar itch, the growing irritation of a world that moved forward when they seemed to stall. "Maybe Kaia likes me too much. That, or luck is continuously wooed by my charms." He quipped with a quirk of his horned head, the grin on his maw as vicious as it is amused. Dove doesn't need to share words of endearment, he knew. He knew it as much as she knew of him. Few have ever found a place within the scarred and wild haired son of Gidal, and those that do, know that there a hundred things he will be articulate enough to say — at least sober, and in a somewhat amiable state of mind. The Raider was poor company when he was melancholic, like death had walked into the room and refused to leave.
"Admit it, you would miss me too much." He said instead, as he slowed to a stop next to her slender frame. His own sword is sheathed and strapped against his barrel, the hilt glinting in the light between the bare trees. "Seen anything unusual?" Iskalder queried casually, not that he expected to see anything, let alone her.
Post 1 | Wordcount 399 |
|
|
|
Post by unifangs on Mar 28, 2018 18:04:46 GMT -6
For a split moment she wondered would happen if she released the bolt, let it fly.. She was never one to miss her mark. Would her rage subside or would she remain in a tumultuous cycle of bitterness? It was so much easier to live in indifference, to reject conscious feeling but Dove cared. She cared about the Flanks, she cared about Iska, even if she never dared to admit it. She hated it. She hated how deeply it wounded her that the Clan was withering like a rose in winter, a starving wolf never finding even the scraps left of a carcass… But hungry dogs remember and Dove remembered everything done against her people. “Or maybe life is a crueler fate than death,” Dove whispered. She let her crossbow return to its place upon her back, exhaling slowly with her breath visible in the cold air. Humor wasn’t something she knew.. So she knew no way to meet that sardonic comment but with her own grim sense of reality.. Surely Iska knew this by now, that she would never know how to go along with the punchline. Dove knew she was far from popular but that never stopped her from viewing her life in the simplistic, harsh way she did. “There is a slight possibility I would shed a single tear.. Maybe two,” Dove muttered, her own weak attempt at humor but she knew it was laced with too much venom, too much of a knife’s edge, but she knew Iska wouldn’t bleed from her words.. Or she almost hoped he didn’t. “Unusual? Nothing especially so,” she said, “ only the slow, decaying nothing.. So much nothing.” Her frustration seeped into her tone and the flame was born again as she grinded her teeth together.
Post: 2 WC: 295 |
|
