until every last star in the galaxy dies
The stranger was black and white, and the absence of color on his body only further accented the color in his eyes. Blue like the sky, but he had no wings to soar through them - so he changed his original conclusion: they must be blue like the sea instead, for anyone could swim in that. Sirius stares at him with eagerness written in the lines against his face, leaning forward as he waits for an answer.
He wasn’t aware that he was holding his breath until he lets it out in a single, dejected sigh. “Oh,” he says, and although he tries to not let his disappointment show so clearly, his entire statue seems to deflate a little. Maybe his eyes weren’t ocean-blue, after all.
Sirius is already looking over the other man’s shoulder, where the ships bob along the water and the waves seem to be beckoning to him. For a moment he frowns, as he looks down towards the sailors hurrying busily along the docks, as if he can’t imagine why else the stranger would have come from there. He’s about to ask what he had been doing down there, and why his skin smelled like the salt-that-comes-from-the-ocean, or the water-that-is-not-safe-to-drink, when he catches the other man’s gaze, and again is taken aback by the clear cerulean nature of it.
It takes some effort, but he pulls his eyes away and looks over the strange black-and-white man again.
There was no collar around his throat, no tresses or hobbles on his legs. He had no name tag, giving him a number. He had no wings, nor horn, nor anything else that would make him one of their hunters.
No visible sign tethered him to any one place.
“Why can’t you?” he asks, unable to stop himself when he looks up to meet the man’s gaze again. “What’s stopping you?” He flares his wings slightly, letting the tips of his feathers brush the ground on either side of him. A traveler who couldn’t go where he wanted seemed like no traveler at all - it certainly was not the sort of traveler Sirius would wish to be.
And yet, the sudden enthusiasm that bubbles from the stranger is infectious, and Sirius can feel a renewed smile stretching across his features, brightening his face. “This is my home, yes,” he says, and waves with one wing towards the city that sprawls out behind him. “Not where ships live, here - but a good home is Denocte.” He hasn’t been here long himself, but he says the words fiercely, lifting his chest in pride.
“I hear war goes not good for us, fire was markets last week, much food burned then…” his excitement makes his words come out jumbled, his lack and grammar - and knowledge of the language - making itself known. But he shakes his head and leans closer, seemingly unaware of his own deficiencies.
“Want I to fight, but…” he frowns here. “Know how not.”
Hunting, after all, was much different than fighting.
He wasn’t aware that he was holding his breath until he lets it out in a single, dejected sigh. “Oh,” he says, and although he tries to not let his disappointment show so clearly, his entire statue seems to deflate a little. Maybe his eyes weren’t ocean-blue, after all.
Sirius is already looking over the other man’s shoulder, where the ships bob along the water and the waves seem to be beckoning to him. For a moment he frowns, as he looks down towards the sailors hurrying busily along the docks, as if he can’t imagine why else the stranger would have come from there. He’s about to ask what he had been doing down there, and why his skin smelled like the salt-that-comes-from-the-ocean, or the water-that-is-not-safe-to-drink, when he catches the other man’s gaze, and again is taken aback by the clear cerulean nature of it.
It takes some effort, but he pulls his eyes away and looks over the strange black-and-white man again.
There was no collar around his throat, no tresses or hobbles on his legs. He had no name tag, giving him a number. He had no wings, nor horn, nor anything else that would make him one of their hunters.
No visible sign tethered him to any one place.
“Why can’t you?” he asks, unable to stop himself when he looks up to meet the man’s gaze again. “What’s stopping you?” He flares his wings slightly, letting the tips of his feathers brush the ground on either side of him. A traveler who couldn’t go where he wanted seemed like no traveler at all - it certainly was not the sort of traveler Sirius would wish to be.
And yet, the sudden enthusiasm that bubbles from the stranger is infectious, and Sirius can feel a renewed smile stretching across his features, brightening his face. “This is my home, yes,” he says, and waves with one wing towards the city that sprawls out behind him. “Not where ships live, here - but a good home is Denocte.” He hasn’t been here long himself, but he says the words fiercely, lifting his chest in pride.
“I hear war goes not good for us, fire was markets last week, much food burned then…” his excitement makes his words come out jumbled, his lack and grammar - and knowledge of the language - making itself known. But he shakes his head and leans closer, seemingly unaware of his own deficiencies.
“Want I to fight, but…” he frowns here. “Know how not.”
Hunting, after all, was much different than fighting.
notes: <3
