leonidas
holy places are dark places.
it is life and strength,
not knowledge and words,
that we get in them.
it is life and strength,
not knowledge and words,
that we get in them.
Her cheek is warm against his lips, even as he draws back his lips still remember what it was like to touch her. They still tingle with the silk of her hair, the heat of her skin, warmed ever more by her sorrow and the sun that blooms bright with summertime.
He is slow to draw away from her. Slow because beneath the thick of his lashes he drinks in the lines of her face each of them straight as an arrow and yet curved as all things in nature are. He has spent much time within nature’s masterpiece, loose upon the woodland floor (for his wings are still not yet fledged) and wildly across the meadow and riverbanks.
Leonidas looks at this girl because he has never been so close to a girl who is not of his blood. He knows how his mother smelled and how his sister does too, their scent is a comforting thing, it is home and everything about their smell is welcome. But oh, this girl’s skin bears a scent so different, so utterly, wonderfully strange. There is no part of her familiar to him and how that sparks curiosity within him. It burns hot and bright and slowly, boldly he reaches for her again, to run his lips like fingers along the contours of her cheek, her brow, her nose. Never does he think this improper, never has he learned social etiquette or how to not touch unless invited.
She is too different, too wonderful, too beautiful for him not to. He counts the lashes that curve over each eye and thinks that hers might outnumber all the trees within Novus for how thick each one is. Or yet, maybe only the stars are enough to outnumber them…
Eventually, though still not satisfied, Leo draws back and watches her with a frown upon his young face. This wild boy does not understand her words, but oh if he did, he might understand just something of what she feels. Still his heart is raw, still he aches (as if run through with a blade) for the family who disappeared from him so suddenly. He has felt winter’s desolate, lonely bite and yet lived and continues to live with blood warm in his veins. But he does not know the symbolism of her words and so, offers with the softest sigh from curious lips, “I can show you how to keep warm in winter if you would like?”
Her next question, however, Leonidas understands. Where is his home? “Anywhere I choose.” The boy says, smiling like a god who could make it any place he wished. Already he feels the sigh of the woods and the begging of the seaside sand, as if either would make for him the grandest bed for the night. His leaves rustle in his hair, they whisper questions about the girl along his throat. Wild and unkempt he looks to her, this masterpiece of creation, and smiles, feral and bright. There is something untameable in his smile. There is a boy unruly, and yet in love and awe of everything about him.
“The sea, the woods, the meadows, the sky” the fae boy says and looks so longingly upward. “The sky, when my wings grow large enough to take me there.” He trails off his gaze tumbling down and down and back to Maerys, to her sides to…. where no wings reside. Oh!
Her sides are slim and unblemished by angles of feathered arms. Oh! He gazes at her as if she is now not merely beautiful – another marvel of nature- but a strange one, a mysterious one. “Where are your wings?” His wide eyes look over her every inch and yet find no feather to bear her into the sky. “Is that why you are sad? Did you lose them like I lost my parents?”
He is slow to draw away from her. Slow because beneath the thick of his lashes he drinks in the lines of her face each of them straight as an arrow and yet curved as all things in nature are. He has spent much time within nature’s masterpiece, loose upon the woodland floor (for his wings are still not yet fledged) and wildly across the meadow and riverbanks.
Leonidas looks at this girl because he has never been so close to a girl who is not of his blood. He knows how his mother smelled and how his sister does too, their scent is a comforting thing, it is home and everything about their smell is welcome. But oh, this girl’s skin bears a scent so different, so utterly, wonderfully strange. There is no part of her familiar to him and how that sparks curiosity within him. It burns hot and bright and slowly, boldly he reaches for her again, to run his lips like fingers along the contours of her cheek, her brow, her nose. Never does he think this improper, never has he learned social etiquette or how to not touch unless invited.
She is too different, too wonderful, too beautiful for him not to. He counts the lashes that curve over each eye and thinks that hers might outnumber all the trees within Novus for how thick each one is. Or yet, maybe only the stars are enough to outnumber them…
Eventually, though still not satisfied, Leo draws back and watches her with a frown upon his young face. This wild boy does not understand her words, but oh if he did, he might understand just something of what she feels. Still his heart is raw, still he aches (as if run through with a blade) for the family who disappeared from him so suddenly. He has felt winter’s desolate, lonely bite and yet lived and continues to live with blood warm in his veins. But he does not know the symbolism of her words and so, offers with the softest sigh from curious lips, “I can show you how to keep warm in winter if you would like?”
Her next question, however, Leonidas understands. Where is his home? “Anywhere I choose.” The boy says, smiling like a god who could make it any place he wished. Already he feels the sigh of the woods and the begging of the seaside sand, as if either would make for him the grandest bed for the night. His leaves rustle in his hair, they whisper questions about the girl along his throat. Wild and unkempt he looks to her, this masterpiece of creation, and smiles, feral and bright. There is something untameable in his smile. There is a boy unruly, and yet in love and awe of everything about him.
“The sea, the woods, the meadows, the sky” the fae boy says and looks so longingly upward. “The sky, when my wings grow large enough to take me there.” He trails off his gaze tumbling down and down and back to Maerys, to her sides to…. where no wings reside. Oh!
Her sides are slim and unblemished by angles of feathered arms. Oh! He gazes at her as if she is now not merely beautiful – another marvel of nature- but a strange one, a mysterious one. “Where are your wings?” His wide eyes look over her every inch and yet find no feather to bear her into the sky. “Is that why you are sad? Did you lose them like I lost my parents?”
@Maerys | "speaks" | notes: <3
