[ b ] Here There Be Dragons (Daughter & Fierce)
Posted: Wed Jul 10, 2024 3:03 pm
"You look like her, you know," Fierce Warrior said.
At some point in the last several minutes, he had moved closer, his long tail dragging across the sand behind him. Sharp Eyes was somewhere near his hind legs, ever silent and ever watchful, her presence both reassuring and familiar. A part of his chest ached, his eyes tracing the lines of the kimeti he faced, gaze sliding over the sharp ridges of her forehead, the gentle slope of her brow, the tangled, sea-wet hair, the pointed ears. So much like her mother, and nothing like him.
"I know," said Fire. She didn't quite smile at him, but her voice was softer than it had been on their initial meeting; something a little less grating, a little less like it was filled with years' worth of frustration and anger and loneliness. "She mentioned that, sometimes. I have her eyes."
Not her manner, though. Her mother had been the gentle kind, softness tempered by the graciousness that she extended to everyone and the stubbornness that ran a streak through her daughter as well. Fierce had met her by the ocean, because of course he had, the two of them walking slowly along the edge of the water and letting it lap at their hooves. He remembered her laugh, and her eyes crinkling as she had looked at him, and the way that she had leaned against him, the full width of her side pressing against his flank. He remembered, too, the way she had tilted her head against his, something gentle, not quite pitying, but tender nonetheless.
"You do," Fierce Warrior agreed. There was a moment of silence while they continued to walk, her not quite touching and him not quite reaching for her, as much as he wanted to. "You have her face, too. I remember it well."
Fire's head turned towards him, something challenging in her gave that made Fierce flinch back instinctively, his pulse thundering in his ears. He wanted to run away, but that would have made it worse.
"And yet, you'd forgotten all about her until now," she said coolly, her tone as icy as the deepest depths of the ocean, and she had stopped now, turning to face him, her expression growing hard and unfriendly. "You forgot, and you left her alone, and then you left me alone."
"I didn't know about - "
"Oh, save it." Fire turned, her tail whipping behind her like a snake in the sand, every movement of her body strung tight with tension. "I'm not going to forgive you yet, so don't even try to apologize. It's not worth it."
"At least - " Something stuck in Fierce's throat. He tried again, keeping his voice as level as possible; beside him, Sharp Eyes let out a low growl of protection, pressing against his leg. "At least let me bless them. You. Please. It's the least I can do."
She had something to say to that, he was sure, but at least she had stopped and turned back to look at him, her eyes dancing with flames. After a long moment of silence in which the only sound were the waves rushing through Fierce's thoughts, Fire gave a tight nod.
"For my children," she said flatly. "Not because it's you. Not because I want your help."
It hurt. He tried to pretend like it didn't and gave a nod, his heart pounding so hard he was certain she could hear it. Fierce took a breath, a slow inhale and a long exhale, and then he closed his eyes, just for a minute. Just to get his bearings.
"I bless them with strength," he said quietly, without opening his eyes again, "and with health. With the knowledge that they are protected. That they are...loved. With the character of heart to know and do good."
He lifted his head and met Fire's gaze. She said nothing, and neither did he, and for just a few seconds the tension was stretched so thin that Fierce thought perhaps when it shattered it would cut him so deep he would lose some of himself in the process.
"Don't come looking for me," said Fire, and left.
At some point in the last several minutes, he had moved closer, his long tail dragging across the sand behind him. Sharp Eyes was somewhere near his hind legs, ever silent and ever watchful, her presence both reassuring and familiar. A part of his chest ached, his eyes tracing the lines of the kimeti he faced, gaze sliding over the sharp ridges of her forehead, the gentle slope of her brow, the tangled, sea-wet hair, the pointed ears. So much like her mother, and nothing like him.
"I know," said Fire. She didn't quite smile at him, but her voice was softer than it had been on their initial meeting; something a little less grating, a little less like it was filled with years' worth of frustration and anger and loneliness. "She mentioned that, sometimes. I have her eyes."
Not her manner, though. Her mother had been the gentle kind, softness tempered by the graciousness that she extended to everyone and the stubbornness that ran a streak through her daughter as well. Fierce had met her by the ocean, because of course he had, the two of them walking slowly along the edge of the water and letting it lap at their hooves. He remembered her laugh, and her eyes crinkling as she had looked at him, and the way that she had leaned against him, the full width of her side pressing against his flank. He remembered, too, the way she had tilted her head against his, something gentle, not quite pitying, but tender nonetheless.
"You do," Fierce Warrior agreed. There was a moment of silence while they continued to walk, her not quite touching and him not quite reaching for her, as much as he wanted to. "You have her face, too. I remember it well."
Fire's head turned towards him, something challenging in her gave that made Fierce flinch back instinctively, his pulse thundering in his ears. He wanted to run away, but that would have made it worse.
"And yet, you'd forgotten all about her until now," she said coolly, her tone as icy as the deepest depths of the ocean, and she had stopped now, turning to face him, her expression growing hard and unfriendly. "You forgot, and you left her alone, and then you left me alone."
"I didn't know about - "
"Oh, save it." Fire turned, her tail whipping behind her like a snake in the sand, every movement of her body strung tight with tension. "I'm not going to forgive you yet, so don't even try to apologize. It's not worth it."
"At least - " Something stuck in Fierce's throat. He tried again, keeping his voice as level as possible; beside him, Sharp Eyes let out a low growl of protection, pressing against his leg. "At least let me bless them. You. Please. It's the least I can do."
She had something to say to that, he was sure, but at least she had stopped and turned back to look at him, her eyes dancing with flames. After a long moment of silence in which the only sound were the waves rushing through Fierce's thoughts, Fire gave a tight nod.
"For my children," she said flatly. "Not because it's you. Not because I want your help."
It hurt. He tried to pretend like it didn't and gave a nod, his heart pounding so hard he was certain she could hear it. Fierce took a breath, a slow inhale and a long exhale, and then he closed his eyes, just for a minute. Just to get his bearings.
"I bless them with strength," he said quietly, without opening his eyes again, "and with health. With the knowledge that they are protected. That they are...loved. With the character of heart to know and do good."
He lifted his head and met Fire's gaze. She said nothing, and neither did he, and for just a few seconds the tension was stretched so thin that Fierce thought perhaps when it shattered it would cut him so deep he would lose some of himself in the process.
"Don't come looking for me," said Fire, and left.