11-07-2018, 07:37 AM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 360px; line-height:120%; font-family: calibri; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"][ ❖ ] ;; – Difficult is it to place within the simplistic structure of syllable risen from the curl of tongue what course of time may do, changes wrought as on it continues, ever shifting and moving – a river.
Gentle the graze of warmth, touch of heat along curved spine, tingling as it finds root within toes, dancing upon the ends of each nerve as it finds an end. Almost is longing within the slow beat of heart, this thing of muscle and blood yet, within the confinements of the mind, something all together different. Beneath the touch of hatred, searing a heat as fingers wound about heavy marble, forcing within the hard material a shape it bore no want to conform to. Or might it be something more akin to ice, delicate jewel as it may be, finery woven within thin strands that begged to feel the brush of love yet within lingered the ever present worry it may simply melt if one grew too close.
Wishful may such thinking be, nothing but want to explain the ache caught beneath the cage of ribs when another reached, sought anything meaningful from one of such youth. False were the smiles upon pale lips, twist baring teeth in jagged a shape, the laughter uttered a strained sound hinting at cracks about a facade they knew not was fixed to stiff features gentle with its padding of baby fat. Here there was no need for such ad about those lips played not a smile seeped within falsehood but the soft curl of a frown, eyes tracking the shift of paw along surface of fabric. Never were the words there, echoing want to be around him, one of few counted amongst those who bore something, unknown this oddity which set them apart and drew closer the lost child.
Lift of head was slow though loud was the sudden shrill cry of horn, flick of ear all that marked response to such intrusion of sound. Pooled about shoulders the fabric contained into loose the structure of a nest, heavy a presence giving with it a warmth, drawn about small body until almost suffocating was it. And yet it never seemed such, more a comfort. Curl of thought, slow its rise though no such precaution is necessary as about it mind encircles, thinks well of it. Press of nose further into the fabric gathered about them, breath exhaled into it, warmth raising in a short exhale of steam. Heavy grow lids, murmur of breath escaping – shuffle of paws across wood that had seen all too many before, grown thin and the veneer painted atop was worn away, tired the sound of voices as conversation rose amongst those few contained in these walls. Difficult was it to shut out such intrusion, walls proven thin as paper given little in way of privacy until it rose, coalescing into a sharp sound driven into the centre of their mind.
Begrudging were actions, marked with displeased sound bound about sharp exhale. Rough was the shove to remove that which wound about them, pushed into a heap atop the pillow almost swallowed amongst it all. There would be time enough later if the want to organise struck them – such was laughable for the state of their room was one speaking of disorder – the creaking protest of old hinges bringing with it a pale wash of light. Upon pale lips settled a frown, displeasure apparent as fictional brow found itself drawn down, shadowing eyes of earthen tones. One for climates given to higher temperatures apparent was the youth's displeasure in the faint chill about the wind, tugging upon the golden cinnamon strands that adorned their body, all too thin to fend much of it off. Preoccupied with their comfort it took a few seconds for CCLIV to realise those they had trailed, unfamiliar faces that bore no names though they held no care to learn of them, possibly later when sour mood lightened, uneven the pace which drew them forward once more.
Within some ways time was a healer though the roll of weight, shifting in hopes to never allow it to settle within its entirety upon leg held differently from the rest, spoke of ill done practices. Minimal was their hope of keeping pace with those before them, languid the way they moved and yet all the quicker for it, given no need for brief a stop allowing the pain within muscles to subside some. No real surprise was there when at last unsteady steps drew them closer, amongst those gathered in loose knit circles though the press of bodies, their heat joined together into heavy a presence atop bony shoulders, grew almost too much.
Tips of small claws clicked softly, scraped and worried at the ground beneath before, all at once, movement was paused. Hitch to breath, uneasy an exhale as once more it began. Striker. The word was unfamiliar to child, nothing behind it though the way it was spoken, almost after thought as it was slide amongst others yet something with it, enough to catch in the mind.
Gentle the graze of warmth, touch of heat along curved spine, tingling as it finds root within toes, dancing upon the ends of each nerve as it finds an end. Almost is longing within the slow beat of heart, this thing of muscle and blood yet, within the confinements of the mind, something all together different. Beneath the touch of hatred, searing a heat as fingers wound about heavy marble, forcing within the hard material a shape it bore no want to conform to. Or might it be something more akin to ice, delicate jewel as it may be, finery woven within thin strands that begged to feel the brush of love yet within lingered the ever present worry it may simply melt if one grew too close.
Wishful may such thinking be, nothing but want to explain the ache caught beneath the cage of ribs when another reached, sought anything meaningful from one of such youth. False were the smiles upon pale lips, twist baring teeth in jagged a shape, the laughter uttered a strained sound hinting at cracks about a facade they knew not was fixed to stiff features gentle with its padding of baby fat. Here there was no need for such ad about those lips played not a smile seeped within falsehood but the soft curl of a frown, eyes tracking the shift of paw along surface of fabric. Never were the words there, echoing want to be around him, one of few counted amongst those who bore something, unknown this oddity which set them apart and drew closer the lost child.
Lift of head was slow though loud was the sudden shrill cry of horn, flick of ear all that marked response to such intrusion of sound. Pooled about shoulders the fabric contained into loose the structure of a nest, heavy a presence giving with it a warmth, drawn about small body until almost suffocating was it. And yet it never seemed such, more a comfort. Curl of thought, slow its rise though no such precaution is necessary as about it mind encircles, thinks well of it. Press of nose further into the fabric gathered about them, breath exhaled into it, warmth raising in a short exhale of steam. Heavy grow lids, murmur of breath escaping – shuffle of paws across wood that had seen all too many before, grown thin and the veneer painted atop was worn away, tired the sound of voices as conversation rose amongst those few contained in these walls. Difficult was it to shut out such intrusion, walls proven thin as paper given little in way of privacy until it rose, coalescing into a sharp sound driven into the centre of their mind.
Begrudging were actions, marked with displeased sound bound about sharp exhale. Rough was the shove to remove that which wound about them, pushed into a heap atop the pillow almost swallowed amongst it all. There would be time enough later if the want to organise struck them – such was laughable for the state of their room was one speaking of disorder – the creaking protest of old hinges bringing with it a pale wash of light. Upon pale lips settled a frown, displeasure apparent as fictional brow found itself drawn down, shadowing eyes of earthen tones. One for climates given to higher temperatures apparent was the youth's displeasure in the faint chill about the wind, tugging upon the golden cinnamon strands that adorned their body, all too thin to fend much of it off. Preoccupied with their comfort it took a few seconds for CCLIV to realise those they had trailed, unfamiliar faces that bore no names though they held no care to learn of them, possibly later when sour mood lightened, uneven the pace which drew them forward once more.
Within some ways time was a healer though the roll of weight, shifting in hopes to never allow it to settle within its entirety upon leg held differently from the rest, spoke of ill done practices. Minimal was their hope of keeping pace with those before them, languid the way they moved and yet all the quicker for it, given no need for brief a stop allowing the pain within muscles to subside some. No real surprise was there when at last unsteady steps drew them closer, amongst those gathered in loose knit circles though the press of bodies, their heat joined together into heavy a presence atop bony shoulders, grew almost too much.
Tips of small claws clicked softly, scraped and worried at the ground beneath before, all at once, movement was paused. Hitch to breath, uneasy an exhale as once more it began. Striker. The word was unfamiliar to child, nothing behind it though the way it was spoken, almost after thought as it was slide amongst others yet something with it, enough to catch in the mind.