04-19-2009, 10:09 PM
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500+
The warrior was silent as she lay there, for once unsure. Since the attack, the warrior had experienced much uncertainty. And perhaps what made the warrior laugh a little (for what was life if one could not laugh at oneself?) was that she was at times unsure of what it was that made her feel that uncertainty. She had felt it in the presence of Bane, and so she felt it now in the presence of Haku. Where the warrior could become that authoritative image of warriors and leaders, at times of rest she was simply a wolf—timid, curious, and bold all at once. It was this, aside from that feral desire to be free, that kept the warrior alone. However, the curiosity did push her to seek the company of others at times, though often she did not need to for it was the other party that sought her. Her social ineptitudes had made her uncertain before, but now there seemed to be much more that made her feel this way. But then, Death tended to show the doors of many other arenas, and she had been close. Perhaps, she thought, it was what was Fated that made her uncertain. And her Dreams showed her nothing.
The sound of his voice again made her stir. Those white orbs lifted, and she pushed herself up unto her elbows. Her gaze was steady as she watched the male as if she sought to read him. But in the end, the warrior merely smiled. She wondered why she was so conflicted, finding this state so uncharacteristic and ridiculous. And yet, she did not laugh, as if she were unable to find the proper chords. For a moment, she only listened to the dying sounds of her name upon his voice; the sound was suddenly foreign as if it did not belong to her. And then she pushed herself closer to the male, pressing herself against the warmth of his body and in doing so pushing the uncertainty that had threatened to consume her mind away. The soft shivering of her body, having only just been realized, was eased as her hands tentatively and yet confidently held him in an embrace that was also used for her own support. The woad bound maw was on the secui’s shoulder, and the touch of the two different forms was foreign.
The soft smile was almost playful as she felt the effects of his warmth and of their proximity upon her body; the cold and pain were held at bay. “Why must you always hesitate with me, Haku,” the soft susurrus of the melody sang. The warrior was wounded and in the process of healing. There were times in which the female required another to lend her a fleeting strength, and this was one such time. And the child of Nemain was requiring not a physical strength but a mental strength. The white orbs shifted to watch his face. A part of her innocence had been taken that night within his arms, and she had been curious, almost hungering, since then. It was simply a part of life—she understood that as surely as he must. “Can you not accept me now?”
500+
The warrior was silent as she lay there, for once unsure. Since the attack, the warrior had experienced much uncertainty. And perhaps what made the warrior laugh a little (for what was life if one could not laugh at oneself?) was that she was at times unsure of what it was that made her feel that uncertainty. She had felt it in the presence of Bane, and so she felt it now in the presence of Haku. Where the warrior could become that authoritative image of warriors and leaders, at times of rest she was simply a wolf—timid, curious, and bold all at once. It was this, aside from that feral desire to be free, that kept the warrior alone. However, the curiosity did push her to seek the company of others at times, though often she did not need to for it was the other party that sought her. Her social ineptitudes had made her uncertain before, but now there seemed to be much more that made her feel this way. But then, Death tended to show the doors of many other arenas, and she had been close. Perhaps, she thought, it was what was Fated that made her uncertain. And her Dreams showed her nothing.
The sound of his voice again made her stir. Those white orbs lifted, and she pushed herself up unto her elbows. Her gaze was steady as she watched the male as if she sought to read him. But in the end, the warrior merely smiled. She wondered why she was so conflicted, finding this state so uncharacteristic and ridiculous. And yet, she did not laugh, as if she were unable to find the proper chords. For a moment, she only listened to the dying sounds of her name upon his voice; the sound was suddenly foreign as if it did not belong to her. And then she pushed herself closer to the male, pressing herself against the warmth of his body and in doing so pushing the uncertainty that had threatened to consume her mind away. The soft shivering of her body, having only just been realized, was eased as her hands tentatively and yet confidently held him in an embrace that was also used for her own support. The woad bound maw was on the secui’s shoulder, and the touch of the two different forms was foreign.
The soft smile was almost playful as she felt the effects of his warmth and of their proximity upon her body; the cold and pain were held at bay. “Why must you always hesitate with me, Haku,” the soft susurrus of the melody sang. The warrior was wounded and in the process of healing. There were times in which the female required another to lend her a fleeting strength, and this was one such time. And the child of Nemain was requiring not a physical strength but a mental strength. The white orbs shifted to watch his face. A part of her innocence had been taken that night within his arms, and she had been curious, almost hungering, since then. It was simply a part of life—she understood that as surely as he must. “Can you not accept me now?”