some memories never leave your bones.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
This boy does not belong here. He moves through the crowds as if they were a herd of goats, unpredictable, loud, smelly. The boy moves with a grace only the wilds of nature could breathe into his bones. The boy slinks, leonine and at once also walks like a stag amidst a crowd of fools. Heis not sure what to be here, within the thick of the city. Should he be afraid? Should he be calm? Eyes stray to the boy for even passersby know that he does not belong here. If they are not drawn to the way he moves - like a wild, elven thing - then maybe it is the dirt upon his skin, or the tangle of vines and spring flowers that hang from his antlers, or maybe it is the grazes upon his limbs. Leonidas smells of wild flower meadows, starlight and damp woodland, they smell of strange strong scents and they clang and clatter with jewels as they move.
His lips curl with distaste. Vendors stand at stalls, crying out to sell their wares. The boy wanders, drifting like a leaf loosed from a tree, caught upon a whimsical wind that cannot decide where to lay it. He floats between stalls looking at foods that make his stomach rumble and jewels that gleam ugly and ostentatiously up at him. His lip curls and he goes to leave, except for her. She is a flash of silver, like a fish within water. He looks and expects her to be lost to the tide of the crowd. But she isn’t. She stands, laughing.
Leonidas falls still, statuesque as a carving of gold and copper-hue marble. He watches her, enchanted by her laughter, struck by the way parts of her blink in and out of sight. They had not found a healer and still they both straddle the land of the living and the land beyond. Passersby brush past him, some through him as his body shifts, still struggling to be real. It has been days since he has eaten properly since he could not hold anything long enough to eat. For so long he felt nothing at all. Not the breeze in the air, nor the brush of a flower across his knee. But now he feels, sometimes. It comes and goes like dreams. Life tingling upon his skin, reminding him of what it means to exist. Had she felt it too?
Leonidas moves toward her, his eyes finally lifting from the pale, silvery dance of her skin and up to the boy she laughs with. His nose draws in toward his chest, his muscled neck arching. Something twists, hot and raw within his stomach. It makes him impulsive, angry. The wild-wood boy turns away from them, but his eyes drift back bright and curious, unable to draw themselves away from her for long.
He looks over stalls as he drifts along in the crowd, still not fitting, still blinking in and out of sight, ghostly, strange. A necklace catches his eye. It is unlike any he has seen - all of them had been bright heavy and gaudy. Yet this, oh, this one reminds him of the woods. Its chain is silver links carved like fine stems with delicate leaves branching out. They reach down, down toward a point where more silver leaves gather in, turning into teal green leaves that cradle a deep pink gem, pretty as a flower. It belonged in a meadow, not here, lying upon a table. Without a thought the boy lifted the piece from the table. It is mere chance the vendor was looking the other way. Slowly Leonidas meanders on, lost in the beauty of the necklace, until he looks up, at Aspara and the boy she laughs with.
That strange feeling comes back, hot and unwelcome. It pierces deep, makes his skin itch. He moves toward them, suddenly wanting her attention, suddenly knowing why he picked this necklace. Suddenly bold, suddenly on edge, he steps up beside Aspara, pressing his muzzle to the curve of her neck. He inhales her, she smells of smoke, of strange, city things. He huffs and pulls away, casting her a sideways glance. She might be pretty but her smell was a hard thing to tolerate. Proudly he holds out the necklace to her. He likes the way it looks, framed against her skin. Suddenly curious, suddenly feeling a little strange again, he casts a glance to the boy beside her.
Leonidas dares not open his mouth, not at the moment, not when his voice was doing strange things. Sometimes painfully low and only occasionally normal. He didn't like to speak, not since girls had laughed at him on his playdate with Nicnevin. Instead, he fixes the boy with a stern look before turning back to Aspara, hoping she likes the necklace he chose for her.
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