boys, boys don’t cry
boys keep it all inside
It isn’t difficult to find what he is looking for. He follows the darkest plume of smoke that rises above the rooftops, offering awkward half-smiles to those he happens to make eye contact with along the way, the sacks hanging over his shoulders jingling lightly as they brush against one another. Lingering near the entrance of the forge, the stallion hesitates before going in. Instead, he watches the smoke for a moment, his gaze drawn by the smoldering wisps as they rise.
Thoughts tumble in his mind and pull him in different directions—the anxiety of anticipation, the fear of pain, the longings of once-was, and the sorrow that haunts his excitement.
He doesn’t quite know how to feel, or what he should be feeling.
Slowly inhaling through the knot in his chest, Fang shifts his weight to step into the forge before he jerks back again, halted by a pair of vibrant green eyes. There is some familiarity in the lanky wolf that twists his heart (Adira, I miss you) but he is able to recover from the sting of pain by the time a woman approaches from within. She is imposing but kind, and he does his best to mirror her easy grin. “Um, no, we haven’t. Hello,” the boy lowers his head in a short, respectful bow; when he had been a king, he had not cared for such formalities, but he knows well that not all rulers feel the same. “My name is Fang,” his dark lips skew as he meets her eyes again.
He nods in response to her question. “There is, actually. I’m from Denocte—” the briefest pause, his throat constricting around the words that sound foreign and out-of-place on his tongue, because he will always belong to Vasanta, “—and I’ve brought with me various supplies. I want to recreate some armor, and was told to find you, so I was wondering if you’d have the time to help me out?” His tone drifts off into a question at the end, not wanting to burden her but desperate for her to accept.
Reaching back into one of the satchels, he searches for a piece of paper. “Here, I have a drawing of what my armor was like before. I’m not an artist, so I apologize for the quality, but hopefully it’s enough to give you an idea,” Fang laughs softly at himself, handing Uzuri the sketch of his chest armor and holding his breath in anticipation.
tag; @Uzuri
“…”
Thoughts tumble in his mind and pull him in different directions—the anxiety of anticipation, the fear of pain, the longings of once-was, and the sorrow that haunts his excitement.
He doesn’t quite know how to feel, or what he should be feeling.
Slowly inhaling through the knot in his chest, Fang shifts his weight to step into the forge before he jerks back again, halted by a pair of vibrant green eyes. There is some familiarity in the lanky wolf that twists his heart (Adira, I miss you) but he is able to recover from the sting of pain by the time a woman approaches from within. She is imposing but kind, and he does his best to mirror her easy grin. “Um, no, we haven’t. Hello,” the boy lowers his head in a short, respectful bow; when he had been a king, he had not cared for such formalities, but he knows well that not all rulers feel the same. “My name is Fang,” his dark lips skew as he meets her eyes again.
He nods in response to her question. “There is, actually. I’m from Denocte—” the briefest pause, his throat constricting around the words that sound foreign and out-of-place on his tongue, because he will always belong to Vasanta, “—and I’ve brought with me various supplies. I want to recreate some armor, and was told to find you, so I was wondering if you’d have the time to help me out?” His tone drifts off into a question at the end, not wanting to burden her but desperate for her to accept.
Reaching back into one of the satchels, he searches for a piece of paper. “Here, I have a drawing of what my armor was like before. I’m not an artist, so I apologize for the quality, but hopefully it’s enough to give you an idea,” Fang laughs softly at himself, handing Uzuri the sketch of his chest armor and holding his breath in anticipation.
tag; @Uzuri
“…”
Lost boys like me
are free.
are free.
please tag Fang in all replies; magic and force are permitted
