05-02-2019, 02:32 PM
Mara’s words shivered through her with a tug of sadness, but she did not follow the feeling down into the depths. Even if he could be made to listen, it would not be the same thing it once was. She sighed, fingers tangling idly in the bedsheets as the frustration seeped. She did not like being within the walls of Mara’s cage, though it was not the scuttling and scratching of the creatures she shared it with that appeared to bother her. Small shoots coaxed to impossible life where her hands rested, unfurling petals pale as moonlight. A vine curled between the metal slats of the headboard, squeezing.
An ending comes. She shivered, but that was not fear either.
Her attention rose as one of Mara’s pets launched itself into her lap and cowered there, like it might crawl right beneath her skin. She discovered Tristan hulking in the doorway, while all around the creatures surged with the upset of a storm-tossed sea. Nimeda frowned and shifted her legs as they crashed around Mara’s tiny form, not particularly enamoured of potentially getting caught in the pile, until a moment later they clambered upon one another in flight, seeping into every dark crevice.
She had never seen Mara release them like that. Nor the small beings act with such fear.
“You left me,” she accused of the kin as she watched the last of their smokey bodies disappear into the walls. Fear snarled his lip with old resentments (she recalled there was a reason, when Mara had asked to see others in this world, that she had summoned Jon and not Calvin). But if ancient strings tugged his nature one way, hesitation yanked him back from the threshold of what undoubtedly would have been a mistake. He searched for reassurance. Nim wondered if it was quiet without his wolf.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, palms rested on her knees; resolute at the promise to uphold her end of the frayed compact. The force of her will still pressed against her immediate surroundings, albeit not in a way she was paying much attention to. Stubborn retaliation for what she considered an injustice. “And you have nothing to be afraid of; no one will hurt you.”
Mara slipped from her perch, and Nimeda watched. Or, perhaps more accurately, she watched Tristan’s reaction. Grim did not care much for the delineation between black and white, which was why she had coveted his help for such a task. People misunderstood Mara, else they feared a nature they could not contain. But no one deserved to live chained. “Mara, what do they call this place when you are awake?”
An ending comes. She shivered, but that was not fear either.
Her attention rose as one of Mara’s pets launched itself into her lap and cowered there, like it might crawl right beneath her skin. She discovered Tristan hulking in the doorway, while all around the creatures surged with the upset of a storm-tossed sea. Nimeda frowned and shifted her legs as they crashed around Mara’s tiny form, not particularly enamoured of potentially getting caught in the pile, until a moment later they clambered upon one another in flight, seeping into every dark crevice.
She had never seen Mara release them like that. Nor the small beings act with such fear.
“You left me,” she accused of the kin as she watched the last of their smokey bodies disappear into the walls. Fear snarled his lip with old resentments (she recalled there was a reason, when Mara had asked to see others in this world, that she had summoned Jon and not Calvin). But if ancient strings tugged his nature one way, hesitation yanked him back from the threshold of what undoubtedly would have been a mistake. He searched for reassurance. Nim wondered if it was quiet without his wolf.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, palms rested on her knees; resolute at the promise to uphold her end of the frayed compact. The force of her will still pressed against her immediate surroundings, albeit not in a way she was paying much attention to. Stubborn retaliation for what she considered an injustice. “And you have nothing to be afraid of; no one will hurt you.”
Mara slipped from her perch, and Nimeda watched. Or, perhaps more accurately, she watched Tristan’s reaction. Grim did not care much for the delineation between black and white, which was why she had coveted his help for such a task. People misunderstood Mara, else they feared a nature they could not contain. But no one deserved to live chained. “Mara, what do they call this place when you are awake?”