Isra with the broken pieces
“One cannot shape the world without being reshaped in the process.”
“One cannot shape the world without being reshaped in the process.”
P
erhaps it says something about her citizens that not a single one flinches around Fable, who is pretending to be so much bigger than his youth. Isra knows that they have every reason to hate dragons whenever they look out over the city boundaries to the mountains protecting them. Once she even looked at that trembling dragon egg on the sands and thought about turning back towards her bed and leaving the creature to die. Isra was more afraid of dragons than any of them. But now, when she looks at Fable she can only see her heart torn from her flesh and made massive. She can only see all her dreams sprouting wings until even the distant night sky seems no further away than the end of her shadow at high-noon. Each night she sleeps better, knowing that her city's protected more than it was the day before. Even though the sea is quickly being thinned of fish in the places close to shore, Isra would not surrender her dragon for anything.
Fable brushes his nose against the stallion's. Isra tries not to smile for the way Erasmus seems made more of stone than gold, hard and unbending. She thinks that he might very well be made for war and all the dark things in the world. But she still wishes it wasn't so, she's hard enough for the whole city now.
She would rather they were all dreamers, and artists, and souls that colored all the black in the world and made it brighter.
The dragon pulls away and starts to make his way towards the markets. There is a fish merchant that always has a treat or two for young Fable and his belly is roaring with hunger. Isra closes the distance between her and the stallion looking for war. She smiles, but something in it shines both brighter and deeper than happiness. It shines like a caught moon, pitted and full of wishes that will never fall across the night sky. “Because I found by satisfaction in something other than violence.” The stone around her hooves turns to quartz, pale white and shining with mica.
The steps shine like stars in the sunlight (caught stars, trapped stars, fallen stars). The horn upon her brow, the only crown she'll ever wear, swings like a swords as she gestures a guard to join them. “Please show him to training grounds.” Something in her heart hurts to say the worlds, to take a young heart and send it off to war because it has asked it of her.
Isra keeps all that hurt from her eyes when she turns back to Erasmus. There is only something hot like challenge, and something deep like the sea to meet him. “Someday, when you grow tired of war, I will tell you how.” Her smile fades when the warrior gestures towards the waiting barracks. Later tonight, she will worry about him, when he's not standing still as stone on her stairs and asking for violence.
Later she will lay down her head and wish the world wasn't so cold.
But for now she only turns away, to follow her dragon into the lively press of her city. She does not look back to watch the boy led away. Isra is broken enough for one day.
@Erasmus | "speaks" | notes: <3
