10-14-2018, 02:15 AM
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Curl of lips, faint sound drawn from throat encased within note of bitter anger. Alien to his tongue, drawn across it in a sudden burst before it was fading, hiccup of breath escaping teeth held tightly. Mind caught, found brief respite as it broke apart. Little hope was there in such actions, steps drawn around futile attempt to keep him away as small paws skittered across the sand. He can feel it, a beat buried in the depth of bones that have grown weary. Too young for such weight, shoulders slumped with such as uneven breath rushes forth.
“Want to but... scared,” paws curl, work into the fine grains of sand. All around Harland words rise and fall, tempo given ragged beat as anger touches each, familiar as his mind touches upon the structure of syllables. But it fades, moments slipping away until there is nothing. Darkness crowds about vision grown weak, laughter pressing through cage of teeth, head falling forward until his weight almost drags him down. Barely does he catch himself, tremor to small body. “I don't want Moon to hate me.”
Eyes rose, tears about curve of lids. Slight shake to dark head, want to keep them back. Don't hurt him. Words circled his mind but never allowed to escape, minimal energy reserved depleted until nothing was there. He had been too late, moments passing in which those around him – the enemy, they were his enemy so why did he care – had sought to inflict injury, some succeeding in such action. A part of his mind, buried beneath conscious stream of thought, longed for it, sought to render flesh until sweet taste of blood was his.
A pause, time enough for Har to pull forth the courage to turn back, frown taking hold. The state he is within proves a greater worry than any that might come to him, viewing nothing wrong with such beyond breaks of skin, weeping freely. Struggle to tear away from it all, force attention back to eyes that seem unfocused, blown out until they seem pools of darkness.
[align=center]“Want to but... scared,” paws curl, work into the fine grains of sand. All around Harland words rise and fall, tempo given ragged beat as anger touches each, familiar as his mind touches upon the structure of syllables. But it fades, moments slipping away until there is nothing. Darkness crowds about vision grown weak, laughter pressing through cage of teeth, head falling forward until his weight almost drags him down. Barely does he catch himself, tremor to small body. “I don't want Moon to hate me.”
Eyes rose, tears about curve of lids. Slight shake to dark head, want to keep them back. Don't hurt him. Words circled his mind but never allowed to escape, minimal energy reserved depleted until nothing was there. He had been too late, moments passing in which those around him – the enemy, they were his enemy so why did he care – had sought to inflict injury, some succeeding in such action. A part of his mind, buried beneath conscious stream of thought, longed for it, sought to render flesh until sweet taste of blood was his.
A pause, time enough for Har to pull forth the courage to turn back, frown taking hold. The state he is within proves a greater worry than any that might come to him, viewing nothing wrong with such beyond breaks of skin, weeping freely. Struggle to tear away from it all, force attention back to eyes that seem unfocused, blown out until they seem pools of darkness.
[glow=#000,1,400]I NEED IT TO STOP SO LET ME TELL YOU PLEASE — ✧[/glow]