Things had been quiet. Almost disconcertingly so, it had given the boy far too much time to think- to dwell on each and every thought until it became deafening and unbearable. Xerxes found himself often stuck in his own head, and with his siblings each doing their own thing, and his parents busy with their duties, there was little available to pull him out of the mental prison he had secluded himself inside. Melancholy and moody more often than not, he had taken to composing grand verses in his head, not songs but spoken word, about his life, about the things that he saw day-to-day, the beauty of mundanity and all the boredom and quietness that came with it. Xerxes was not unhappy, and he still kept his coat clean and immaculate, but as he grew it seemed his father's intelligence and penchant for thought had not been lost on him.
The boy snorted softly, stretching out his slender legs in front of his parent's den. Tikal often explored, and Fen had said something about finding his own path, he had up and left quite soon afterwards. He didn't entirely mind, but he supposed his parents might be a bit concerned for him... there was no place for a poet, not here anyways, and perhaps nowhere else either. He was not yet wise, not experienced in the ways of war or subterfuge, he had no place as an advisor and so his skill remained, for now, a rather childish quirk. Xerxes was growing into a beautiful wolf, nonetheless, easily surpassing his siblings in size, his babyish face losing weight to reveal something a bit more chiseled and handsome.
There were, at times, sudden thoughts about the fact that perhaps a woman would never rub against him, never appreciate the bodice of sleek curves and supple muscle that was emerging. He knew, even though the thought caused him guilt and shame to no end, that his affections simply didn't lie there. Each night, with even more fervor now that his second birthday was approaching, he prayed to whatever God that would listen that he would not find his Imprint. What seemed to be life's greatest joy for many others, seemed like a death sentence for him. He supposed he would be obligated to love her, then. And in the same fell swoop he would be obligating himself to misery. Xerxes glanced downwards and pushed the thought from his head. He was too young to think about such things. Besides, there had to be... others, who thought as he did.
Xerxes picked up his head as the sound of approaching pawsteps reached his ears. The delicate, feathery steps could belong to no other. "Mother." He turned to her with an easy grin. "I... thought of a poem about you. I'll tell it to you, if you clean my fur like you used to." Xerxes pushed himself to his paws, rubbing against Ankh's side in greeting if allowed, before circling back to sit primly in front of her. He was wholly ready to not be so... grown-up, for today. "I was going to let Father tell it to you, but he's been preoccupied with all Asteraia's puppies so I felt he might forget it. It's not nearly as poignant if the delivery is off, you know." He smirked, though his eyes glittered playfully.
| XERXES
asteraia | one | viserys x ankh | |