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Posted on April 27, 2013 at 03:18:31 AM by Tricky
pure, innocent instinct
She thinks of Liridon more fondly then she has any other home in her life. It had been the first welcome she had ever received, when she stepped into the desert and felt her heart jump in an instant recognition that this was home. Liridon had been a strange place with strange people and Aine had managed to slip in and become one of them. Reykjavik, her birth place, had been darkness, with out a hint of light or heat, just a cold and cruel place. Death. It was the only thing that Aine could remember about that time. The time when her father had been murdered and her mother had cast her out, at the time when she had wrapped herself around Dracul‘s claw and purred whenever he cooed her name. It was a rotten time but a time when she had felt something. She has changed since then, and changed again, she had wallowed in her felt pity and depression for many years, from Reykjavik to Every New Day. She had found Rencor, but any hope of a romance had been smothered when Aine had given birth to their daughter. Her daughter.
Spirit had come and he had died just as quickly, and Aine had fled from home to home in hopes that she would find some sort of happiness. Liridon had given her just that. She had been a part of a family. For a moment her lips twitch into a smile, her eyes drift from his face to the sky, thoughtful, and she speaks: “It was called Liridon. The horses there not only looked strange, they were strange. My friends had powers, one of them could control fire, and the other could turn into a panther.” She has stopped smiling by now, although there is something more friendly, more welcoming, about her posture. It is an attempt to open up, although the information she gives is not personal, she is thankful for his interest.
It would have been easier for him to take her off to his home with out a second glance, then to stand here and bother with the iron-mares tough exterior. He is respecting her, and because Aine’s pride is left intact she feels more inclined to give him a chance.
She does not bother to correct him; Aine has not once thought of herself as mediocre personally, at least not in personality or skill. In colour maybe, she was not flashy or unique, but Aine has never been the type to worry about that. Aine has never found a situation where she has beaten someone with good looks, what is the point in looking good if you could not fight to back up your strength, or think to back up your mind. She simply nods. The compliment is noted but not acted upon, she has received few in her time and she does not dote on them like some. She has always been too masculine to draw attention to herself, to stubborn, to hard-faced.
“Where is Sinar, and what is it like?
Spirit had come and he had died just as quickly, and Aine had fled from home to home in hopes that she would find some sort of happiness. Liridon had given her just that. She had been a part of a family. For a moment her lips twitch into a smile, her eyes drift from his face to the sky, thoughtful, and she speaks: “It was called Liridon. The horses there not only looked strange, they were strange. My friends had powers, one of them could control fire, and the other could turn into a panther.” She has stopped smiling by now, although there is something more friendly, more welcoming, about her posture. It is an attempt to open up, although the information she gives is not personal, she is thankful for his interest.
It would have been easier for him to take her off to his home with out a second glance, then to stand here and bother with the iron-mares tough exterior. He is respecting her, and because Aine’s pride is left intact she feels more inclined to give him a chance.
She does not bother to correct him; Aine has not once thought of herself as mediocre personally, at least not in personality or skill. In colour maybe, she was not flashy or unique, but Aine has never been the type to worry about that. Aine has never found a situation where she has beaten someone with good looks, what is the point in looking good if you could not fight to back up your strength, or think to back up your mind. She simply nods. The compliment is noted but not acted upon, she has received few in her time and she does not dote on them like some. She has always been too masculine to draw attention to herself, to stubborn, to hard-faced.
“Where is Sinar, and what is it like?
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Replies:
- for allato - By Tricky April 27, 2013 at 04:48:11 AM
- for sana - By Tricky April 27, 2013 at 05:59:21 AM
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