01-03-2019, 12:40 AM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]The things in life that felt right tended to be — he doesn't believe in fate, but he believed in that. Orpheus stays soft as he stares down at Ollie, a little kid that he could curl around even though he's hardly big himself. His heart does something strange when he hiccups, his paws twitching with the urge to comfort him, to do better than what he was doing now. Because what he's doing now is not enough, almost nothing. They're both missing the bigger picture, but isn't he always? He's lived his entire life lost in limbo. All he did was roll with what was thrown at him. What was one more thing? But like with Ollie, something about his eyes and the way he tugs to get his attention felt like the idea of fate that he doesn't quite believe in.
He remembers being curled up under one of his dad's paws with his head on the other, rattling off words he'd learned and asking questions about Shakespeare. He remembers asking about his own parents, and the quiet "good" he'd whispered when Brigand told him the truth. This wasn't the same. Ollie had someone to miss.
So he follows, ducking his head to avoid branches the child could easily miss and weaving around areas that were too tight to navigate. He doesn't have to ask him to slow down and he's not sure he would have anyway, not with how urgent he seemed, but Orpheus's pace finally slows as they break through to the clearing. Maybe the kid was too young to recognize the smell that tinged the air; he's not. A more protective part of his heart wants to pull him back before he has the chance to reach them, though he's already too late for that. The bright lion stands there with the sun on his back but his paws frozen to the ground, his stomach clenching.
"Kid," he whispers. He's sure that he should hear the snap of ice when he manages to take a step, but he doesn't. "Hey." One large paw gently moves to tug him back, touch small and gentle on his chest. "Don't do that. Come here." The lion's voice is soft and thick, heavy the way a weighted blanket or winter jacket is.
He remembers being curled up under one of his dad's paws with his head on the other, rattling off words he'd learned and asking questions about Shakespeare. He remembers asking about his own parents, and the quiet "good" he'd whispered when Brigand told him the truth. This wasn't the same. Ollie had someone to miss.
So he follows, ducking his head to avoid branches the child could easily miss and weaving around areas that were too tight to navigate. He doesn't have to ask him to slow down and he's not sure he would have anyway, not with how urgent he seemed, but Orpheus's pace finally slows as they break through to the clearing. Maybe the kid was too young to recognize the smell that tinged the air; he's not. A more protective part of his heart wants to pull him back before he has the chance to reach them, though he's already too late for that. The bright lion stands there with the sun on his back but his paws frozen to the ground, his stomach clenching.
"Kid," he whispers. He's sure that he should hear the snap of ice when he manages to take a step, but he doesn't. "Hey." One large paw gently moves to tug him back, touch small and gentle on his chest. "Don't do that. Come here." The lion's voice is soft and thick, heavy the way a weighted blanket or winter jacket is.
[align=center][img width=300]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/intermediary/f/c43c2c6d-b9e5-4952-a3d7-4db10fd90fe6/dcwzlwz-724bba54-d4ca-433b-ad25-a4a33df0b505.png/v1/fill/w_1175,h_680,strp/ded_lion_by_bluiestar_dcwzlwz-pre.png[/img]
I HAVE TROUBLES EVERY DAY BUT IT TURNS OUT FINE
[div style="font-size:8pt;line-height:1.2;font-family:arial;color:black;margin-top:-5px;margin-bottom:5px;"]｢ ❝ it turns out fine, and i fight to keep them all away ❞ | [color=black]biography – [color=black]tags ｣