[ Respond | Andarin: The Mountains ]
Posted by nyota on March 15, 2009, 2:22 pm, in reply to "... Forgive me; Nyota."
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Nyota was curled around her tree, talking in quiet tones with Kivuli. It was dusk, and the purple light from the moon cast long shadows across the frost-tipped ground in the valley. The cat stretched and yawned, his pink tongue catching her ankle and stopping her mid-sentence. The simple gesture made her laugh as she leaned against the tree, watching Kivuli’s spotted back with the kind of easy interest that tends to happen between old friends.
The Polestar, too, noticed the palpable change of the Elements. As usual, there was nothing subtle about her home or its cryptic ways. Her troubles with the Shards were over, the gossamer-thin scar on her shoulder the only proof it had all even happened, but the Keepers were still at work and things were constantly shifting.
That is why when the ‘stranger’ made his way down the sloping hillside, she did not take note of it at first. There were many of the Wolves now that she did not recognize. But as the blur of black began to come closer, she felt her heart skip a beat now and then. How many times, though, had she been sure he had come back? How many times had she reached out to touch him, and been met with nothing but a flush of her own foolishness?
Kivuli, who had actually never met Requiem, was instantly on edge. His tail swished irritably and he rose onto all fours, leaving a patch of flattened grass where his haunches had been planted only moments before. Nyota’s gaze switched down to him and she brushed his back with her nose, coaxing his stiff hairs back into relaxation.
If Kivuli was seeing him too, what did that mean?
His voice, coarse and soothing all at once, literally made her heart race. He had changed in looks, but not by much, and the differences in her would be maximized. She was darker, redder, much older… and understandably rounder, after three children. Disbelieving, she didn’t say anything at first but her soft nose snuck forward in a jab, quite like Hamlet must have stabbed Polonius behind that fateful curtain.
When it met with his hard, warm (oh, how she remembered his Flame!) flesh, she withdrew it just as quickly, tucking her lips back to her chest and saying in a quiet exhale-
“Oh.”
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