Diggin' up bones

Swentzle Byström · 12-06-2011, 11:15 PM

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Word Count → 450

Swentzle couldn't see her reaction to his change in position, but if he could he'd feel even worse; crossing his arms wasn't meant to be a scolding gesture. It was more one he fell back on in times of unease, when he wasn't sure what else to do with his hands. It had been common among his friends and neighbors back home--a strong pose, one to convey unity when talking to one another, and meant, to him, relaxation and friendship. He was aware that people also crossed their arms to scold pups, but in Shikoba the pup crossed their arms as well, so he wasn't aware it conveyed displeasure to his temporary companion.

As she spoke of her pack, his stance relaxed even more, and though his arms remained crossed, an hesitant smile crossed his face. "Spiritual...and they value peace and family, you say?" He turned his head away, gazing into the distance sadly. It reminded him almost painfully of home, and his heart clenched and twisted in such a way that he had to hold his breath for a moment until the feeling eased. For a moment he wished Anzhela was here to help him through his momentary weakness, but he shook that thought away; he'd chosen to leave her behind, not the other way around. He could not pine for her after all he'd put her through.

Luckily, Kiara interrupted his brooding, and he turned his gaze back in her general direction, his ears swiveling as he tried to think of the ways in which he was hindered, and how to explain them. "I cannot hunt for myself. I cannot fight for my people, and healing is...difficult, unless the sun is high and I am out under it." He paused, and then sighed. "My disability is, perhaps, that I am not completely blinded. I still rely on my eyes, when it is possible to use them." He ran a hand through his hair again, and then returned his arms to their folded position, shaking his head slightly. "Were the world always dark, I might have learned to use my other senses in place of my sight. But it is not so." And that was what had driven him away from his tribe; if he could harness his blindness, use it as a tool, then he would have become even more useful. There had been blind warriors in the past who were even more deadly on the field than their counterparts, and legends of blind healers who could listen to your chest and learn your sickness using only that. But Swentzle was partially blinded, partially useful; partially a burden. And he did not wish to be.

Table by Aly, code by the Mentors!

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