~ where innocences burn in flames.
ᛯ ᛯ ᛯ ᛯ
There is something different. Something in the way that she lets her muzzle linger on his chest. His ears lay back as the uneasy fillings linger in his stomach and cause a sour taste on his tongue. A breath leaves his lips as he presses his muzzle tightly against her pale flesh, her sweet aroma floods his senses and for a moment he can feel his worries wash away. Finally she parts her lips and her thoughts flood into the narrow space between them, she apologizes for Nyimara... and she knew how much she meant to him.
"You all mean so much to me," he breathes into her pale skin. How could he ever compare one to another? Each of them are unique in their qualities that they bring to their family. And Ysabel brings peace and a diplomatic power to their family. But he can not push away the nagging feeling that there is something more to this than Nyimara.
He shifts his weight as she continues and the uneasiness grows. You two deserve to be together. His heart stills. I want to leave.
He drops his glacial eyes to the sand at his hooves, he begins to count the grains of sand but the numbness continues to spread across his chest, up his neck and into his head. He numbly nods his head as she continues to speak of Warsaw and the protection of her uncle, and askold, and ... the words become inaudible to his ears.
"I," the words are left on his lips until finally he draws himself upward and his voice returns. "Understand your desire to return to the Inlet, it is your home, a part of your soul," he muses.
"You can return now, while you still can make the swim," he says with a furrowing of his brow. He wants to beg her to stay. To tell her that the Ridge will not be the same without her here. But he knows it will only make her departure that much harder on all of them. His ears unbury themselves as she asks for his input on their unborn child's name and it pains him to think that he will be missing this moment with them.
He nods and draws his glacial eyes away from her and to the distant horizon where the heavens meet the sea."Haskuldr Björnson or Heiðr Björndottir," he says aloud, his words are soft just barely audible above the dull roar of the surf. His heart lurches within his chest as he feels the vibration of the crashing sea, as it batters his breaking soul.
Björn - Icelandic mutt - 10 years old - Grullo Sabino
Bera Konung of the Ridge