09-01-2009, 10:43 PM
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End soon? Unless you want to continue—I am fine either way! But then maybe when you have time (and probably when I have time too, hahah!) we can have an updated one and Cer can meet the pups or something, heheh
500+
There was a faint glimmer—and yet it was gone—within that white gaze. The discontent at what had occurred was lessened marginally by the Rosea’s words. If she had not failed the Rosea, then she had not failed completely. And she had not entirely failed herself. Indeed, she had conquered the fear of her father. But she had not physically overcome him and instead had been overcome. In that sense, she had failed. As warrior, she had failed. And the black wolf knew that every encounter could not be victorious. She accepted that, and so she was able to easily admit to failure. While not complete, what had happened had most certainly not been victory; thus was it left to failure. A soft sigh was admitted. When her body would be permitted to move, she would have to regain much of what would be lost in idleness. But she would, too, have to gain what had not yet been gained, to better herself, to improve herself. And what better way to better oneself than through defeat?
The black fae softly smiled, something a little brighter than had been permitted upon those quiet lips. The Rosea’s words were warming, surprisingly so to the black fae who had never truly felt such a thing in such a way. The friendship, now, that she had with Cercelee seemed much stronger than she had believed it to be. Where once their relationship had been of simple loyalty and respect (and yet loyalty, for the warrior, as not lightly given), their relationship had now blossomed into something stronger. It was a peculiar sort of thing, the black fae mused, that was similar and yet not similar to the relationship that was shared with Onus. But the words that Cercelee spoke made such a thing apparent, and the warrior was immediately humbled. The white gaze was lowered almost tentatively, the silence almost awkward for her lack of words. A simple ‘thanks’ would not suffice. For she whose life was tenuous, it was a strange thing to have her life valued in such a way. At length, a simple nod was given and the gaze was lifted. She would thank Onus on Cercelee’s behalf and on her own.
For a moment, despite the shadowed thoughts that hung over the swollen abdomen, she was permitted rest. The carrying of that black seed was lifted if only briefly, but it would be enough for now, and it was more than the warrior should ask. A soft breath sang into the quiet air, and perhaps it sang of relief. It spoke there, held openly within the white orbs, moving as if light were filtered there. "Thank you." The words were sung quietly, rising as a Raven’s feather to join the song of the earth, and perhaps the rings of relief were sung there also. Softly, the woad-bound maw was dipped. And for the Rosea’s patience, the warrior would, in return, do, as warrior, what she always did with strengthened loyalty and trust and friendship.
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500+
There was a faint glimmer—and yet it was gone—within that white gaze. The discontent at what had occurred was lessened marginally by the Rosea’s words. If she had not failed the Rosea, then she had not failed completely. And she had not entirely failed herself. Indeed, she had conquered the fear of her father. But she had not physically overcome him and instead had been overcome. In that sense, she had failed. As warrior, she had failed. And the black wolf knew that every encounter could not be victorious. She accepted that, and so she was able to easily admit to failure. While not complete, what had happened had most certainly not been victory; thus was it left to failure. A soft sigh was admitted. When her body would be permitted to move, she would have to regain much of what would be lost in idleness. But she would, too, have to gain what had not yet been gained, to better herself, to improve herself. And what better way to better oneself than through defeat?
The black fae softly smiled, something a little brighter than had been permitted upon those quiet lips. The Rosea’s words were warming, surprisingly so to the black fae who had never truly felt such a thing in such a way. The friendship, now, that she had with Cercelee seemed much stronger than she had believed it to be. Where once their relationship had been of simple loyalty and respect (and yet loyalty, for the warrior, as not lightly given), their relationship had now blossomed into something stronger. It was a peculiar sort of thing, the black fae mused, that was similar and yet not similar to the relationship that was shared with Onus. But the words that Cercelee spoke made such a thing apparent, and the warrior was immediately humbled. The white gaze was lowered almost tentatively, the silence almost awkward for her lack of words. A simple ‘thanks’ would not suffice. For she whose life was tenuous, it was a strange thing to have her life valued in such a way. At length, a simple nod was given and the gaze was lifted. She would thank Onus on Cercelee’s behalf and on her own.
For a moment, despite the shadowed thoughts that hung over the swollen abdomen, she was permitted rest. The carrying of that black seed was lifted if only briefly, but it would be enough for now, and it was more than the warrior should ask. A soft breath sang into the quiet air, and perhaps it sang of relief. It spoke there, held openly within the white orbs, moving as if light were filtered there. "Thank you." The words were sung quietly, rising as a Raven’s feather to join the song of the earth, and perhaps the rings of relief were sung there also. Softly, the woad-bound maw was dipped. And for the Rosea’s patience, the warrior would, in return, do, as warrior, what she always did with strengthened loyalty and trust and friendship.