[P] Endless Sky

[Eik]

He savors her musical hum of approval. It reminds him that the most meaningful communication is that which comes without words or even touch. A gesture, a sound, a flick of the tail. He lets her see his simple pleasure in reaction to her simple sound- the relaxed droop of his head and the slightest of smiles curling at his lips.

Her sympathy, however, is unwanted. He draws himself inward as he speaks of what was his home and sees the soft look in her eyes in response. He never learned the fine difference between sympathy and pity, and never learned to accept either of the two. Thus her sympathy feels like a slap in the face, and it only takes an instant for him to snap shut. He closes himself completely to her, eyes becoming empty and dull and disappointed.

Eik instantly regrets whatever pained, foul expression must have crossed his face. He softens himself quickly, forcefully, and offers a confused smile in encouragement for her to continue.

(forgive me, pounds a fist at the wall, I am not myself, bruises the color of wine stains)

When she speaks he listens fully, not just to what she says but how she says it, listening for the words hidden beneath the words. Drawn in completely, whatever tension had just seized him now fades away. He has so many questions but none of them seem fitting-- how could he possibly reply to "these wings are meant as broken things" without making an ass of himself?

Well, an ass must always try to be otherwise.

"Someone told me that broken things are the most beautiful." Eik tries to convey this with as little opinion as possible, for he is not sure if this is something he believes in. He looks carefully at her wings, trying to objectively decide if their brokenness changes the way he perceives them-- but finds objectivity impossible, and can only conclude that they are beautiful and Moira is now somehow more comfortable to be around. "For what it's worth." he adds lamely, with a skeptical look that suggests that beauty might not be worth anything at all.

And, we admit, some private part of him is angry at the injustice of the world, angry at the gods for not letting a good thing be.

Here in Novus they worship sun and moon, the passing of time... he's always thought it a curious thing, like praying to a circle. Back home his gods were facets of the self- the hunter, the mother, the sage. Somewhere along the way he realized that his gods are not a time of day or a quality of man. They are apart of everything, woven in the thread of what it means to be alive. Destruction is his god. Pain is his god. Madness is his god. And when he tries to sleep, all his gods and all his demons come out behind closed eyes.

Anyone who's had them knows: you never get used to the nightmares. Even when you've got the same dream every night, it never feels any less real. The only thing that changes is the sharpness of the line between being asleep and awake, dream and reality. Most of the time it isn't so bad. But when it's bad, it's really bad. So when she steps closer and asks him why he can't sleep, a hundred words float to the surface begging to be said. He swallows them with a sad smile, hoping that Moira Tonnerre will never understand what could keep a man from sleep.

"My thoughts keep me up." That is more or less the cleanest, truest explanation. The why stretches back years and years, and he doesn't particularly want to bog her down with the details. "The herb woman was giving me valerian, but that's all used up now." In all honesty, he welcomed the excuse to leave the desert for a while. In Solterra the summer air gets so hot and dry he can hardly breathe.

The dawn is beginning to turn to morning, and he feels a sense of great impending loss. How many questions does he have before the day takes her away? "Do you... have gods?" He asks finally, the divine still ringing in his head.

-     -     -
There is no better way to know us
E I K
than as two wolves, come separately to a wood

@Moira <3<3<3