shake in the knees

Oak · 05-15-2011, 06:56 PM

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this post is blah and all over the place. but I'd like to say that your writing is simply amazing.

Her eyes were like nothing he had seen before. The bloody hue had colored the eyes of the heartless wench who had killed his childhood friend, but blood-thirst and cruelty were not what he saw in the hybrid woman's eyes. Instead, there was something much more profound; intelligence, thoughtfulness perhaps. He was puzzled, for what he perceived in her vermilion pools did not coincide with his fear of her handling of the painted cranium, with the brutal setting in which she lived. He was skeptical, but at the same time intensely curious.

He could see that she was already displeased with him, and he was ashamed for allowing his fear to leak into his poisonous question. Yet she did nothing more than fix him with a narrowed stare and explain, quite calmly, the purpose of her actions. Oak could do nothing but watch and listen closely, his emotions a strange blend of wonder and disgust. His eyes followed the gesture of her hand, unwillingly absorbing the sight of so many mounted skulls. He did not understand why one would take up such a strange art, but he had come from an entirely different place, where Dreaming wolves pursued crafts of music and painting pictures on paper, of healing and growing gardens.

He felt a strange tinge of respect for the calm manner in which she explained, without an apparent reaction to his judgmental tone. Still, she had given him a taste of the pack's customs, so violent, so much different from what he was used to. He realized suddenly that this seeming nastiness was a part of him, too, practiced in the lands of his father. Oak let his gaze fall, overwhelmed, finding no response to her words. He could say nothing that would prove wrong the customs she practiced, no snide remark hid beneath his tongue. In that moment, he was ready to disregard the skulls, leave alone what would always be beyond his capability of understanding. Finally, he looked up, though his cobalt eyes wavered. It bothers me, he admitted softly, his tone slightly defeated. And you're right. I did not know what to expect, but I was afraid to come here. This is not a place for me.

Oak's voice seemed to briefly choke and die in his throat. She had sought and found exactly the right words to resurrect his true purpose for coming into her home. But I can't leave yet. I did come for a reason, he finally spoke what the nameless female already knew. What he said next, however, might be a surprise to her. My father lives here. Gabriel. I've come to meet him.

#300+

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