S
eething anger breathes life into his bones. His eyes narrow and his lips contort into a sneer and a growl whispers rumbles in his throat. It is all
her fault. She had insured that peace would never settle on the shores of their homeland. Wherever her hooves fell, pain and strife surely followed.
His tail cracks against his patchwork skin with an audible snap. Everything about her breathed rage into him. Perhaps it was the way she smiles at him now or how her tone remains level - despite the clear tension that weighs heavily between the mother and her son.
Was I meant to waste away into nothing the first or the second time your father took you from me? her question lingers in the narrow space between them. Her dark eyes search out his, and for a moment he stares into the black abyss of her soul. The myriad of thoughts wash over him, from his childhood, the ridge and his time spent with his mother. It is blurry, a memory that has long since been forgotten. He drew in a ragged breath as she continues,
… I was not so ready to give up on life.” she murmured, the words barely audible above the hiss of the sea. He could not help but feel a pang of guilt at her words. YES. She angered him. But never once had he wished her dead.
"...modir, don't be so dramatic," he snaps with a stomp of his feathered hoof and a roll of his eyes.
He drew his gaze from her, and glares out at the quiet water just beyond the waves. A single ear pitches toward her. He is frustrated. Annoyed? He could blame it all on her but he knew that his
fadir is just as much to blame for all that has transpired.
Fadir's restless heart has drawn all of them from their homes, not just once but twice. And if he were being honest, many more times.
I prefer to see it as an opportunity…” her purring words draw him back from his thoughts. An oppurtunity? He snorts.
"oh?" he grunts.
A chance to reconnect ourselves... she continues in an attempt to convince him that this was for the best. In what world was being washed up in her
modir's desert wasteland was the best for them? He heaves a heavy sigh of frustration as a string of profanity threatens to spill from his lips. He didn't want to meet his siblings. He wanted to leave this forsaken island behind, to swim - to well - anywhere but here.
Come on, a nice roll in the dry sand will do WONDERS for those aches and itches you must be feeling about now. As if she casts a spell on him, he can feel the itchiness begin to spread across his broad back, hindquarters and creep down his belly. Yet, he refuses to acknowledge that she was after all... right.
"No," he snaps
"your chance at mothering me AND telling me what to do has died... ages ago." his words are meant to sting her, to make her feel the seething anger that (despite her attempts to quell it) still boils beneath the surface. He would spend the next HOURS or DAYS itchy if that just meant defying her.
He shifts his narrowed gaze toward the sea and then back to his modir. Fine. He snorts and steps to her hip. How he wants to stomp past her in a rage and flick his tail in her face like a defiant child. A smirk tugs at his whiskered lips.
"You going to show me this wasteland or what?" he grunts as his hooves fall into tempo with hers.
