life's like an hour glass glued to the table

Pripyat Soul · 01-02-2011, 04:09 AM

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fweee! Prip is getting so much attention cause of SSWM 503 XD .

Pripyat came and went more freely now. He did not feel restricted to the ranch, he never really had. He had felt obligated to check in, and he still did, but not as consistently as he once had. Nor did he spend as much time there. All his free time was spent wandering outside the packlands, for as far as he felt comfortable before he turned around and came home. Sometimes he slept in the lighthouse now, rather than at the ranch. Jefferson nor Mother had remarked upon this, but he knew they had noticed. However he always returned to them, always would, and he knew they knew this. That was perhaps was allowed such freedom for the boy, and he was content to have it so.

Ever since talking with Jefferson about his half siblings, and shifting, he felt better. Relieved almost. Miriette still made him uncomfortable and he was not eager to meet any of the others, but Addison's company was enjoyable and none of their existences could be denied. Nor did he want to, he simply didn't want to have to think of them always. It wasn't hard, he found that after their first meeting his path with Miriette's crossed rarely. And now that he could shift, he felt less laughable, more secure in himself. He spent most his time on two legs now, proud that he was able to do so.

It was in this form he entered the ranch, with no reason in particular. Pripyat found that after exploring outside the pack he was glad to come back to the ranch, to find his father reading and his mother sitting in the same room and he would join them, sitting there in silence. They didn't need to talk, they never had really. When he was younger it had been him who did most the talking between the three of them, a question for Mother or for Jefferson, and now he was content to just be with them. They were fine as they were, they didn't need to fill in silence with useless words.

However when he came into the room that they so often sat together he found neither his mother or father but only a roaring fire and an open book. Geneva had taught him to read, and though he struggled still with large words he had been reading since a young age. Naturally he picked up the book, found the writing to be that of his mother's , became intrigued and read. Ears fell back as the words came off the page and tore tiny holes into the peace he had made with himself and his place with his family. All at once he was hit with too many emotions, guilt for reading something not meant for his eyes, betrayal at Geneva for what he didn't know, anxiety and some sort of longing. Unable to help himself he held book, reading and rereading the passage, trying to steady his breathing and his thoughts all at once.

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