the language of love / o, weekly task

[CLEO R. C.]

CLEO ROUX-CIPHER

Of course it was Cleo who arrived next. Of course. Though she'd never willingly admit it, she idolized both Pincher and Aita, something akin to love - strong and unwavering - overwhelming her next to every time she was in their presences. She hated the L-word however, the implications surrounding it ever successful in leaving the most bitter of tastes in her mouth. Love meant weakness and Cleo couldn't be weak. Eshe told her that time and time again, coiling tighter around her delicate throat as she did so, grip so tight that the child had to gasp for breath, not once freed from the confines of her snake's grip until the reptile was certain that she believed those words as truth. The small Roux never thought anything about her mamba's strange method of teaching her things, in fact, she believed that to be a normal thing.

Oh how mistaken she was.

Eshe was with Cleo today actually, those unfeeling eyes of hers locked upon her companion's clanmates with an anticipated lack of interest. It was Cleo who seemed slightly less stoic than usual, sanguine gaze bright as she regarded (especially) Aita. Her attention would briefly flicker to her father and Captainpaw, the slightest flick of an ear their only greeting. [color=#445544]"What are you doing, Aita?" Cleo finally inquired, idly wondering why her siblings thus far so intrigued by the beach and the sea. She was the polar opposite of them, the sand under her paws serving more as a discomfort than anything else. It was the jungles that she loved, lush and green and full to the brim with snakes... Yes, perfect.

© MADI