I am not like any ordinary world
The paste tingles upon her lips and upon the worried and open skin of the cheetah’s limb. The air is full of the smells of herbs and healing things. It is laced through with a magic that tangs like needles across his tongue. Absently the feral boy wonders if this is how Time tastes upon the tongue, or merely his own incarnation of it…
She might have wished herself faster, but Leonidas’ magic will urge bacteria to bloom faster, a wound to necrose quicker, healthy skin to grow more swiftly… As the cheetah rises, unsteady as a lamb upon newborn limbs, it is clear that she was fast enough. The wound is pink and bright with health. Nothing is necrosed and no bacteria festers, turning to rot and ruin beneath the newly healed skin.
Leonidas blinks at the cheetah as it reaches for the girl. Within its cradle of bone and tissue his heart is beating a stuttering rhythm. His bonded turns its gaze to him and the fae youth’s blood runs with electricity. It sparks across his skin, turning him to embers where he stands, caught in the light of his bonded. A piece of his soul tries not to remember and yet it is rebound by old, broken and fraying ribbons to the piece of his bonded.
The open maw with its gnarled teeth of twigs and roots lies still and open and ugly. It no longer clasps his lost bonded within its jaws, but rests pliant and placid. Never the Dawn girl whispers and the darkness steals it swiftly from her lips. But he heard it, soft as birdsong, light as petals. He turns to her, to where she should be, still with the paste upon her lips. Upon his own is a thank you. But she is gone, flighty as a doe into the woods. His gold eyes darken tarnishing until they are a deep mahogany. Her woods are lovely, dark and deep, he will not find her tonight to press his thank you earnestly upon her. So instead the boy turns his gaze back to his bonded and wonders why everyone flees.
Why he fled Aspara.
Why Isolt fled him.
Why Danaë fled him.
Why he and his bonded fled each other.
Slowly, chastened by the Dawn girl, he touches his cheetah’s crown and the cat purrs like distant thunder. As one they turn, black and brown and gold, and slink away together into the swelling, gestating darkness.
@Danaë
