04-09-2009, 11:12 PM
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500+
He was still, unmoving even as he spoke, his lingering touch a suave pleasure amidst her sea of pain. She might have reached up to touch his hand, to feel that which she was unfamiliar and yet known, had she not feared that the touch would be chased away. For the warrior, that single touch was enough as she listened to the sound of his voice, to the patterns that it made within the still air of his abode. And in the stillness his words were heard with a new clarity, the woad bound ears permitted to relax as was the rest of her body. It was a strange and domestic place, but a place that housed that quiet but wild soul. And she had known a wilder part of that soul for a single night. Now, his soul was quiet as he spoke quietly of Fate—their Fates—and of the purpose of the gods. Could there be such profundity in their meeting? She had never believed in coincidence, but she, as all mortals, had never been privy to the whims of deities.
But he was a follower of a male god—or, more precisely, of that single God that held no name. This made the Caledonian-Korean slightly uncomfortable, for there was great history with the people of that God and with the people of her gods. "I am a follower of Nemain," the alto melody replied slowly, the white orbs delving deeply into that of the male as she spoke the name of her goddess, "But Fate is the same for all.... We have known the domain of such a thing. I was Fated to be defeated, and with that defeat, I have been brought to you." The soft melody of those alto tones paused before saying, "And if my defeat has been necessitated for this union, then so shall I be eased in mind." And somehow, having voiced it, the female felt that it was so. But his faith which was held openly and clearly upon his voice was adamant, and she wondered now if he, who came from a religion that waged wars and killed women for the mere label of heathen, would become a threat knowing that she followed the goddess Nemain.
As he increased the distance between them, revoking his touch as he did so, the warrior wondered. Leaning down, she took a sip of the water, quenching her thirst, and eating only a bite of the meat. For now, that was all that her body would allow. Leaning back into the corner of the couch, a soft sigh escaped her, wavering with her silence. The pain—she wondered how long it would last, and she knew that it would be longer than she desired. She knew that she would not be able to fight. "What do the fated do," the alto melody continued, soft and almost inaudible. Or did she keep him from some other business. Being a simple creature of the physical and mental, she did not know what one did in a house—or perhaps it was not different from living as she lived.
500+
He was still, unmoving even as he spoke, his lingering touch a suave pleasure amidst her sea of pain. She might have reached up to touch his hand, to feel that which she was unfamiliar and yet known, had she not feared that the touch would be chased away. For the warrior, that single touch was enough as she listened to the sound of his voice, to the patterns that it made within the still air of his abode. And in the stillness his words were heard with a new clarity, the woad bound ears permitted to relax as was the rest of her body. It was a strange and domestic place, but a place that housed that quiet but wild soul. And she had known a wilder part of that soul for a single night. Now, his soul was quiet as he spoke quietly of Fate—their Fates—and of the purpose of the gods. Could there be such profundity in their meeting? She had never believed in coincidence, but she, as all mortals, had never been privy to the whims of deities.
But he was a follower of a male god—or, more precisely, of that single God that held no name. This made the Caledonian-Korean slightly uncomfortable, for there was great history with the people of that God and with the people of her gods. "I am a follower of Nemain," the alto melody replied slowly, the white orbs delving deeply into that of the male as she spoke the name of her goddess, "But Fate is the same for all.... We have known the domain of such a thing. I was Fated to be defeated, and with that defeat, I have been brought to you." The soft melody of those alto tones paused before saying, "And if my defeat has been necessitated for this union, then so shall I be eased in mind." And somehow, having voiced it, the female felt that it was so. But his faith which was held openly and clearly upon his voice was adamant, and she wondered now if he, who came from a religion that waged wars and killed women for the mere label of heathen, would become a threat knowing that she followed the goddess Nemain.
As he increased the distance between them, revoking his touch as he did so, the warrior wondered. Leaning down, she took a sip of the water, quenching her thirst, and eating only a bite of the meat. For now, that was all that her body would allow. Leaning back into the corner of the couch, a soft sigh escaped her, wavering with her silence. The pain—she wondered how long it would last, and she knew that it would be longer than she desired. She knew that she would not be able to fight. "What do the fated do," the alto melody continued, soft and almost inaudible. Or did she keep him from some other business. Being a simple creature of the physical and mental, she did not know what one did in a house—or perhaps it was not different from living as she lived.