04-07-2009, 11:10 PM
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500+
When he left her side, she felt an emptiness, heard and felt the air moving to fill the space in which he once stood. She was left in her own darkness as she shut her eyes, only vaguely aware of the distant sounds as the male moved through the house. Within herself, she began to collect her thoughts and calm her mind, to recollect the shattered fragments of her being. For a moment, the female’s mind was emptied. Even in her dreams, cluttered by the fluttering thunder of the raven wings, she had not been in that tranquil state that had often characterized her. But now.... there was nothing. She breathed deeply, moving to lean into the corner of the couch to allow for the support of her form on two sides. And the woman lay there unmoving, sifting through the scents that moved through this house as if it were important for her to become familiar with it. Only her tail moved, moving slowly across the cushions to lay alongside her thigh. For a moment, the pain was pushed aside as she was able to rise above it, but the waves of that hurt, that ebbed and flowed against her will, gradually pulled her mind back into her body.
The white orbs opened as the blanket was placed upon her knees. Her hands went to touch the fabric, the feel so unfamiliar in her fingers. And yet, she felt her warmth of her legs contained within the fibers of the blanket and understood why so many utilized it. Her gaze flickered across the food and water that he brought, grateful that he had been willing to share such things with her (his reassuring words of providing what she needed still had not dawned upon her) and she looked up at the male. And then he found her again, his hand against her face. She took an intake of breath sharper than the rest, as if she had not been expecting that touch. And there was so much held within that simple thing, and the beauty of that strange darkness within the male made the black fae almost breathless. Her own hand almost reached to touch the male’s fur, to feel the untainted strength beneath his skin. But his voice captivated her.
For a moment, she was silent. "I am a warrior," the soft melody replied, speech made easier now through the use of her voice. "The world is a battlefield, each aspect of life a challenge I must overcome and defeat...." Her words trailed off as his touch wandered to her neck. It was a soft touch, careful yet unafraid as if they knew.... The warrior’s breathing deepened slightly as she looked into those eyes, as if wondering. DaVinci had thought her view to be brutal, and yet her life did not seem to the warrior to be that way, even as she lay in the house of a stranger who tended the wounds that had tempted Death. Love was a kind of warfare, she had told him. But perhaps the man would understand why it was she hid, for, being as she was, the woman could not win any way, regardless of the field upon which it was fought. And yet, she did not protest that touch, as if curious now where he was going. She was very still beneath that touch, as a wounded animal knowing it cannot protest and yet challenging him with those quiet, searching eyes.
500+
When he left her side, she felt an emptiness, heard and felt the air moving to fill the space in which he once stood. She was left in her own darkness as she shut her eyes, only vaguely aware of the distant sounds as the male moved through the house. Within herself, she began to collect her thoughts and calm her mind, to recollect the shattered fragments of her being. For a moment, the female’s mind was emptied. Even in her dreams, cluttered by the fluttering thunder of the raven wings, she had not been in that tranquil state that had often characterized her. But now.... there was nothing. She breathed deeply, moving to lean into the corner of the couch to allow for the support of her form on two sides. And the woman lay there unmoving, sifting through the scents that moved through this house as if it were important for her to become familiar with it. Only her tail moved, moving slowly across the cushions to lay alongside her thigh. For a moment, the pain was pushed aside as she was able to rise above it, but the waves of that hurt, that ebbed and flowed against her will, gradually pulled her mind back into her body.
The white orbs opened as the blanket was placed upon her knees. Her hands went to touch the fabric, the feel so unfamiliar in her fingers. And yet, she felt her warmth of her legs contained within the fibers of the blanket and understood why so many utilized it. Her gaze flickered across the food and water that he brought, grateful that he had been willing to share such things with her (his reassuring words of providing what she needed still had not dawned upon her) and she looked up at the male. And then he found her again, his hand against her face. She took an intake of breath sharper than the rest, as if she had not been expecting that touch. And there was so much held within that simple thing, and the beauty of that strange darkness within the male made the black fae almost breathless. Her own hand almost reached to touch the male’s fur, to feel the untainted strength beneath his skin. But his voice captivated her.
For a moment, she was silent. "I am a warrior," the soft melody replied, speech made easier now through the use of her voice. "The world is a battlefield, each aspect of life a challenge I must overcome and defeat...." Her words trailed off as his touch wandered to her neck. It was a soft touch, careful yet unafraid as if they knew.... The warrior’s breathing deepened slightly as she looked into those eyes, as if wondering. DaVinci had thought her view to be brutal, and yet her life did not seem to the warrior to be that way, even as she lay in the house of a stranger who tended the wounds that had tempted Death. Love was a kind of warfare, she had told him. But perhaps the man would understand why it was she hid, for, being as she was, the woman could not win any way, regardless of the field upon which it was fought. And yet, she did not protest that touch, as if curious now where he was going. She was very still beneath that touch, as a wounded animal knowing it cannot protest and yet challenging him with those quiet, searching eyes.