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.
His sister comes and presses her cheek to his. His name in her mouth is experimental. He hears as well as feels the way her tongue and teeth struggle over his name. Ah the joys of youth. Leonidas is slow with names too, his own tongue and teeth working out sounds and syllables. His name is something fierce upon his sister’s tongue and the boy feels brave when she says it. As if the loss of his parents may not become the trial it threatens to be.
He follows her when she moves past him, trailing along behind her as she weaves through the brush. He skips and stumbles over roots and rests his chin upon her rump as she moves. Oh, anything to keep contact, anything to feel the warmth of her skin and remember what it was to be tangled with her in the warmth of their mother.
Their mother.
The boy thinks nothing more of it as meanders along the path like a river. He swallows down his grief and thinks nothing of all the things he passes that are still and unnatural. When you were born into stillness, then movement is the stranger thing.
Aster stops and he halts beside her. Still her words are with him, consoling. He may be the elder twin, but his sister is calmer and wiser and he presses himself close against her and surveys the horses and statue from beneath the black of his lashes.
Leo is staying.
@Aster | "speaks" | notes: thank you for threading with him! Please bear with me whilst i work out how to write him and who he is!
STAFF EDIT***
@Leonidashas rolled a 1! He has been awarded a brittle horseshoe.
