[P] Does it still hurt

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 

The rain does not relent and the storm prowls on overhead. Each rumble of thunder is a mighty beast whose roar rattles the stones of the earth and has the stems of the field trembling.
 
Each strike of the storm was a dramatic moment, filled with white light and then swallowing darkness. Trees become frightful with their looming shadows and fixed bodies, each one frozen by every illuminating flash of lightning.
 
Raum might afford a lone ear to twitch with a strike, enough to watch as all that is hidden becomes exposed for one brief moment. But then the rain drives ever harder and his skull lowers against the brunt of the wind.
 
Rain trickles as tears down his face, falling silver and bright from his muzzle, tangling his forelock into chaos. Their every stride, if they could hear it above the lupine winds that howl, begin to squelch as the sated earth begins to drown and weep.
 
The grasses are a sea of waves that roll wherever the wind takes them. They crash against Avdotya and Raum’s limbs, their stems sharp as whips in the fickle wind.
 
No longer does he watch the Day girl. No longer does he need to. Raum knows her weapons now, he knows the potential of her forked tongue, the blood red of her eyes and the roll of her muscles beneath slick, serpentine skin. He knows how her potent blood hums, its silent whispering to which he listens. He can even feel the bite of her skull’s leonine teeth upon his spine.
 
Avdotya talks of Crows and his mind fills with blood and betrayal. Ah! At last he smiles. But Raum is forever silver and those lips of his are wolfish and hungry. There is no ounce of joy in that rictus that splits his face. It is poison to behold: a dangerous, beautiful thing of ruin and rapture.
 
“A Crow is who I am.” Raum says as easily as the rain that pours from his spine. He casts the words away as if they were a mere comment upon the obviousness of the weather. The wind rattles the barley at their feet and laughs its roar in their ears. “Their betrayal does not change that.”
 
And which of his brethren Crows was not a sinner? “It turned our was brotherhood is not as tight as I once thought.” Such weakness he exposes so casually, before his voice lowers to silk – the rich warm of whisky enough to numb the nerves and incapacitate the mind. “Yet you know as well as I, that betrayals happen everywhere and Novus’ sin runs deeper than Rapax River.” Such blithe acceptance is a whip across Novus’ back and Raum does not smile as he holds its handle tight.

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@Avdotya