11-11-2018, 08:43 PM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 420px; line-height:120%; font-family: arial; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"]Flight. Upon the tip of tongue it may never find place, drawn across gentle exhale slipping through cracks between teeth, but within the delicate lace of thought it lingers upon gentle edges, found home within it all. Treasure is it, a gleaming jewel of glass cradled within hands that tremble ever so slightly, trailing over it and clear their want for such a thing, threaded through the structure of each thought, touching upon moments of quiet contemplation. Almost beyond stretch of possibility is it to place within the structure of words given to them, mix of tongue grown common as many picked at its worn threads yet the other deemed dead, found no place upon living tongue but rather given to history, barely scratching along the surface of want.
Within the hollow of chest it beats so like the little wings drawn close to the shoulder blades, resting upon the curve of spine, the softly toned downy fluff at the mercy of slight breeze. Always is it there, desire to allow them to spread no matter the slight set of them, never enough power within muscle nor bone, weak the stirring of wind as they made each attempt to take flight. It bore no matter the dreams of child, being of so minimal a time and within sheltered and coordinated each experience, the wings adorning them were given no purpose, simply pretty decoration.
Yet they stir, slight the lift of them as within small head the loud clamour of the bell arises and lingers, trailing across the surface of bone. Faint is the memory of such sound, distant for within the confinement of home sound found itself lingering upon higher octaves, drowning all else out. All the same they knew the purpose for it, head shifting as the sound of others moving by draw dull gaze, gentle the sound of confusion pulled from pale toned lips. Shuffle of small paws along the loose top soil, pace given a steady but slow beat, following behind one familiar within some ways. Such is what makes their decision to settle near to Pip, struggle to hold back want to lean into his leg and so they do not fight it and instead allow it, moving until their weight may press into him, enjoying the tang of herbs about him.
“Don't hurt them,” wide are the eyes that turn towards the dark mass of stranger, the words spoken above their head taking a few seconds to register but once they did sudden is the flare of heat, trembling and uneasy, working through chest until shaky breath escapes. Odd is the sensation of affection towards the reptilian captives, mass of life coiling about one another awaiting the idiocy of one that sought to sound the call of the bell one too many times, but they bare no want to question it. Rather fearful are the eyes turned towards Malkyn, frown drawn across shaky lips.
Within the hollow of chest it beats so like the little wings drawn close to the shoulder blades, resting upon the curve of spine, the softly toned downy fluff at the mercy of slight breeze. Always is it there, desire to allow them to spread no matter the slight set of them, never enough power within muscle nor bone, weak the stirring of wind as they made each attempt to take flight. It bore no matter the dreams of child, being of so minimal a time and within sheltered and coordinated each experience, the wings adorning them were given no purpose, simply pretty decoration.
Yet they stir, slight the lift of them as within small head the loud clamour of the bell arises and lingers, trailing across the surface of bone. Faint is the memory of such sound, distant for within the confinement of home sound found itself lingering upon higher octaves, drowning all else out. All the same they knew the purpose for it, head shifting as the sound of others moving by draw dull gaze, gentle the sound of confusion pulled from pale toned lips. Shuffle of small paws along the loose top soil, pace given a steady but slow beat, following behind one familiar within some ways. Such is what makes their decision to settle near to Pip, struggle to hold back want to lean into his leg and so they do not fight it and instead allow it, moving until their weight may press into him, enjoying the tang of herbs about him.
“Don't hurt them,” wide are the eyes that turn towards the dark mass of stranger, the words spoken above their head taking a few seconds to register but once they did sudden is the flare of heat, trembling and uneasy, working through chest until shaky breath escapes. Odd is the sensation of affection towards the reptilian captives, mass of life coiling about one another awaiting the idiocy of one that sought to sound the call of the bell one too many times, but they bare no want to question it. Rather fearful are the eyes turned towards Malkyn, frown drawn across shaky lips.