Andarin: The Mountains: and the complimentary sunrise; --

Original drawing by ceara @ deviantArt; extra manipulations by Lore

There are some who say he is a whore; that he is loose with his morals and, as the case is, with his body as well.

But that isn’t right and that isn’t true. Those who say that would never know what it feels like to be besides a soulmate; to brush his lips against sleek, familiar, warm fur, the one he could drown in, revel in, simply because it belongs to her; those who say such a thing, bound by outdated standards, wouldn’t understand what it feels like to breathe his lover’s scent, how intoxicating it feels, how delicious.

Perhaps it isn’t an ordinary relationship; but then, he isn’t exactly ordinary.

They aren’t.

“Good,” is all he says, low and sultry and maybe more than a little sinful, if only he believed in sins. He has never said those particular words and he won’t say them and mean it, not to anyone. That isn’t because he doesn’t feel them; it’s simply that he doesn’t know how to put such things into words, voice, to release them in the air and let them echo. Because he can’t say it and do justice to the maëlstrom within.

Rather, they simmer in his actions, his eyes, the way his body melts into hers. It’s there, for those willing, to see that he isn’t a whore. He just perhaps loves too much.

Then he’s laughing, high and delirious and playful, even, and his body is in motion: he’s reminded of the first time they ever met, when he was a prisoner and she wasn’t even an apprentice, his first failure in battle damning him to stay among the mountains.

Funny how such simple things can change one’s life entirely, how his terror – his shocking, absolute, nighttime terror – send him in a wild race through the plains and valleys of Andarin, much like another’s wild terror began another trend of this mad little thing that’s Icarus’ life.

And just as he did then, he does now – without watching or caring for where his feet lie, light like a dash of darkness, and his shoulder meets hers, eventually, before he even realizes where they are – dark, yes, but it had been dark before, but curiously secluded.

Mm.

“Want something?”

Foreshadowing is strong in this one.

You get the picture.

*

And the best and the worst of this is
That neither is most to blame,
If you have forgotten my kisses
And I have forgotten your name.