[bg=#E0E8EF][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,400,table] It seems as though things change quickly when you are gone for a season or two, which should come as no surprise to someone like myself. Someone who has seen more than her fair share of unpleasant change and someone who dreads the very thought of change because of it. A light shudder runs down my spine as I step into the lands I once knew as a home of sorts. Never did I belong to this herd, I find the idea of belonging to a herd strange; I used to be a princess but now I am just me, Daenerys. And I am perfectly fine with that. I have never been power hungry like my brother. Lavender-blue eyes peer cautiously about as pale hooves tread lightly into the lands I have always admired from afar and knew as home in my mind (what I imagined home to be). I have not had a home in over a year, not since my parents were killed, my brother and I sent into exile and then my escape from the island and my brother. Despite my best efforts to reign it in a soft sigh escapes me and for just a moment I allow myself to feel all the angst and turmoil I have become so adept at hiding. The moment passes quickly though as my brother’s taunting voice reaches my ears, ”You must be an idiot to think anyone cares about your feelings aside from mother and father.” We have never had an easy relationship, my brother and I, but I am quick to heed his hissed warnings regardless. It is not as though there is another soul around whom I know and can confide in. No matter, I shake out my flaxen tresses with all the confidence of a prized mare despite never being wanted in my life except by my brother. Another shudder chills my blood and shakes my spine at the thought of my brother’s unholy desire for my body and his attempt to achieve his goal. I am glad to have escaped that dreadful island and I am glad to have my virginity intact still though some have mocked me during my travels. Lost in the recesses of my thoughts and memories I do not realize how far into my old “home” I have come, the home I always admired from a distance but never became a part of. Do I really wish to belong to a herd? I am not sure, but I do know that I am need of rest and nourishment, my slender frame beginning to look too slender these last weeks. Stopping under the shade of an autumn-colored tree I begin to pick at the grass, paying no mind to my surroundings (I have always felt safe near these lands and even more so since I entered them) or to the leaves that have fallen and become entangled in my silken tresses. OOC: Complete. I hope the part about this herdland being her old "home" made sense? Also, I apologize it's not very good, I need to get back into her character.

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Far from the mouth of the cave, far from the mountain-fed brook babbling like a newborn, there was Wuuthrex, his portrait a slim and hazy outline against the contrast of conifers and their shadows. He lingered in the center of the realm, a stark and motionless entity that was visibly a-drift in his own world. Eyes wide shut, the scavenger-turned-king loomed like the faux prayer of a sinner in confession; his poise was a suspension of tides at moon-set, and yet the glance of sunlight melting thinly through pores, tumbling between white silk, suggested he was some ghastly apparition tucked in between. He lurked. He bided. And more sincerely, he dozed, but as a trained hunter (a victorious murderer) one ear was open at all times, vulnerable to every sound, and the thick sinew lining every bone and curve of his skeleton was braced. It was an appearance of tension which made him tangible, otherwise he might have been another wisp of illusive light patterns dancing through the air; a concoction of what-could-have-beens instead of what was. And as the latter, it was with the shifting breeze that Wuuthrex was able to bribe her perfume from its wares. The aroma materialized as a faint and lilting thing, but with the passing seconds it became a prominent suggestion, an urge, and beckoned with a thin and curling finger.

Eyes open: the stallion floated forward with his crown high and a subtly weary expression withering upon the contours of his broad visage. Overnight the entirety of Rayo, the concubine, had been combed tooth and nail, and while its features were memorized flaws and perfections, the untold history nagged rawly at the back of his mind. He knew so little about this place outside of its corporeal values and fronts, and it was unlike a hunter of his standards to fair so freely without understanding its existence, its traps and hidden surprises. For example, this scent. He had tasted it before, had touched it with his lungs and known its flavor as something that could have been quite rapturous. Yet, at that point in time, the decadence was, how should he put it? Dry. For its bearer was long gone by the time Rayo became his bed frame, her groves his pillow, and only that one remained, the subservient Sequoia who'd been with child. Thinking of her reminded him of the vow he had yet to fulfill, but that was for another time. As it was, his attention was honed for this one thing, this pin-prick of a cursed and resuscitated curiosity – her.

“A wood nymph is in my midst …” came a velvet and apathetic drawl as Wuuthrex stilled a handful of feet away. Egyptian blue eyes scanned the girl’s body openly, adventuring along the gentle, but somewhat emaciated slopes and tentatively budding curves until he was satisfied and returned his gaze to the soft palette of her face. “How delightful.” She was very much a woodland presence with leaves in her white-blonde hair, the subtle cruelty of her iris-blue eyes afire as beams of sunlight filtered through them. Wuuthrex maintained his typical blankness, hinting nothing about his mood or what kind of a threat he might be, if any at all. In fact, the atmosphere was almost pleasant he was so ambivalent. A snake can play dead, however, and it would only be a matter of time before he flaunted fangs and venom if she did not play her cards right. “Tell me, what brings you into my humble abode?”

( fini )

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[bg=#E0E8EF][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,400,table] I lose myself in my thoughts rather often these days and I am quite all right with doing so usually but today I find the memories I take comfort in to be more faded than before. As though they are fading away from my mind where I have kept them carefully guarded, protected; taking them out to review only at my worst moments and when the aching loneliness threatens to overtake my spirit. I am not prone to bouts of despair despite all that the fates have “thoughtfully” thrown my way, yet today there is little to bolster me. Carefully I take out my most guarded and prized memory and allow it to play in my mind’s eye, a curvature forming on my face. The details of that memory will forever be a secret but it is the one that I do not think will ever be completely faded no matter how old I become. The smile fades as the final scene comes to a close but the hope remains and for that I am eternally grateful. Soon enough I realize I am not alone, minutes before the stallion speaks I am aware of his coming presence. The animals rustling in that section of the land fell silent; a sure sign a predator by nature or a predator by presence is coming. ”A wood nymph is in my midst…” I nearly chuckle at his greeting but hold my tongue as the mannerisms instilled in me since birth dictate. Where I hail from it is not proper for a mare to meet a stallion without being introduced by a mutual third party or an elder and this is a habit that I have found to be incredibly difficult to break. Turning I look him in the eye, respect given despite the lack of respect I receive as demonstrated by his roaming eyes. ”How delightful.” His voice reaches my ears a second time and my gaze falls to his lips for a fraction of a second before returning to his. My lips nearly begin to part in reply in spite of my discomfort at no third party present when he poses a question and finally falls silent long enough for me to reply. In an unusual show of unfavorable behavior my features are locked into a mask of indifference as my cloud-soft voice is released into the atmosphere. ”It was my abode long before it was yours.” I can almost sense my mother rolling in her shallow grave at my lack of proper etiquette but my features remain schooled, giving away nothing. Knowing I am in the wrong does not stop my posture from morphing into that of a creature very much at home with no intention of going anywhere…perhaps I am a bit too cheeky today for my own good. No matter, this may be just the diversion I have been craving to ease my mind. Looking away from him I give my attention to my surroundings and their remarkable beauty though none of my awe is visible to him as that would ruin the amusement I am gleaning from this encounter thus far. OOC: Complete! =D

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If there was one thing the vulture sovereign had learned in his many moons waxed and waned, it was the picturesque study of everything minute. Details were significant in the hunt; the very hour of every screened flaw and perfection, no matter how grand or minuscule, was vitally precious and could determine the flow of battle, its triumphant or wounded rhythm. Of course, the art of death and its murderous friends was a scale too large for most minds to perceive, but oh so similar was the one dealing with faces. Expressions and their meanings, their interpretations, could alter the exact denotation of fate into a lesser being, a more chaotic being, and learning to understand such a troublesome feature was like transcribing poems of Old Norse into another language. One second the facet of the cliff was safe, sound, and the next? A landslide left the world known at that moment razed to sea level, until the ocean swallowed that and took everything else with it. Faces were dangerous and, for once, Wuuthrex watched the fae with a bemused suspicion coiled in the back of his mind. This wood nymph, she was going to meet his every expectation – a feat that was, in itself, nigh impossible.

“It was my abode long before it was yours.” Intense scrutiny derived only fragments, pebbled leavings of the faceless stone he quietly mused over as a small and cryptic smile curled his lips. “Oh sure, sure,” Wuuthrex blinked sardonically as his dismissive quip aired out and faded, a transparent murmur, “but that was then. This is now,” which transpired from one phrase to the next as pleasantly as the afternoon breeze. “That means you should tell me what I want to know.” Or else. The ending he left out, but it was an empty silence that shook and quaked with understood meaning. Wuuthrex was not a man with much formality: his hands were rough and worn, and filth dirtied his nail beds. Protocol and etiquette were pretty delicacies for slap-happy tongues and, as most of Illyria would come to know if they didn't know already, Wuuthrex was also a man of few words, but every word uttered was a necessity and the exact praxis of his many mutilated and controversial philosophies. So it conflicted him not that she was hesitant and disturbed by whatever skeletons that were in the closet or corpses which rolled in graves – his wish was simple for a man who hardly ever wished for anything at all.

“So,” he observed her with half-lidded eyes set in a tilted crown, “let’s try this one more time,” and those eyes were heavy bronze scales measuring solely whether or not she would leave her abode unscathed. Unscathed, he thought, or damaged beyond repair. It wasn't a game. Such notions caused stomach ulcers and headaches, and other problems for which he had no tolerance. This was an opportunity and it would be the only one she would have before his jaw came unhinged and her blood stained the walls red, her screams colored the sunshine with music. “Tell me, what brings you to my humble abode?”



( lalala )

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[bg=#E0E8EF][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,400,table] He does not disappoint, a quick reply sails into my ears, though his reply in itself leaves much to be desired. Here I am for once willing to break the rules and he spoils it with his demands and thinly veiled threats. ”Oh sure, sure, but that was then. This is now. That means you should tell me what I want to know.” Shaking my head at him I turn to him in mock dismay, my manners failing to make an appearance in all their glory. He is beginning to remind me a bit of my brother before he went insane; the same irritations Viserys plagued me with this stranger duplicates, why must they all be the same? ”Tsk, tsk.” Cloud-soft voice speaks once more with nothing more than amusement in my tones. ”Have you no manners?” I am not alarmed by his threats or demeanor as I have been in close quarters with far less desirable vagabonds before including the very same brother he so reminds me of. Of course, I do not doubt that he can and possibly will harm me, I am no fool. Glancing away thoughtful tones are sent his way, ”No, no...I imagine you lack even the basic civilities.” Lavender-blue eyes turn toward him. ”Let me take a guess, you are spoiled and have become used to having your own way?” My profile is all he can see but I know he will not miss the small smile splayed on my lips and I mentally shrug. Why should I care? He is demanding to know the answers to questions I have no answers for. I am unsure what brings me here today, all I am sure of is I have always felt safe in these borders and despite the unsavory company I still feel safe. An illusion perhaps, but I care not. Turning to fully face him now I take a step closer but remain a respectable distance away my eyes regarding him with a measured indifference as I recall his words. ”So, let’s try this one more time. Tell me, what brings you to my humble abode?” Ah, the part of his manner-less speech I have not yet directly addressed. His implied arrogance and disdain for my presence begs for tormenting. ”Tell me, what have you to gain from knowing my reasons?” I pose the question in as relaxed a manner as my present stance. No stress, worry or strain is evident on my pale features or musculature. No, I am enjoying this exchange more than I should but I have had very little contact with anyone since my escape from Viserys and I intend to make the most of my time with this stranger. Even if it costs me some flesh and blood. I am no fighter but neither am I a weak-minded girl in need of a life lesson or two. It is because of that and my lacking any desire for physical contact with him that I remain here about a yard or so away, my features locked into a mask of indifferent amusement. Contradictory? Well that depends on your point of view and the view from where I stand requests both a calculated amount of indifference and amusement to glint in my eyes. OOC: Complete. The ending is kind of lame. x.x

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“Tsk, tsk. Have you no manners?” Irony was a bitter, bittersweet woman with pistol hips and trigger happy fingers, eyes like smoldering silver bullets and full red lips that could kill, kill, kill. “I imagine you lack even the basic civilities.” It was irony smiling at him then, her malignant grin a scripture of crimson savagery as he endured the infantile humors of an infantile girl. “Let me take a guess,” He sighed and shook his head indulgently, “you are spoiled and have become used to having your own way?” Another guessing game. Wuuthrex was exhausted of such petty notions; they were tedious and hackneyed and, if he had to be honest, he would rather face an irritated grizzly bear than cope with more guessing games. They never guessed correctly no matter how many times they tried, and it only made them appear stupid and haughty, and what use did a vulture have for such idiocy? It was almost criminal. It was criminal. And she had the audacity to accuse him of being spoiled? Children. They were all children, and she – this wood nymph – was their queen.

“Make me out however you wish,” Irony, indeed, was being particularly bitter this day, “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

She was correct thinking he would catch her side-swiped smile – he did – but as previously stated, Wuuthrex would rather be facing that grizzly bear right about now than here, where the child-things were. Duty however required he inspect the intruder – the one who rudely and disrespectfully interloped – and uncover the intentions of her wandering. She wasn't lost, obviously. Why had she returned though? Had she been searching for the man who abandoned his throne? Or had she simply missed the irrevocable beauty of Rayo with all its lights and shadows? These were simple notions, simple things she could answer and then he would be out of her hair. Yet she insisted on making his job as sovereign more difficult than it should have been with her needless sarcasm and needless debasing of a man who could, and would, kill her in a heartbeat without one solitary ounce of remorse.

Wuuthrex did not want to bloody his hands, though; that was the real crux of the matter. The blood lust was dried, satiated from that one advent through the Misty Forest. If he had wanted to, she would have been dead already. When the blood moon haloed above his head, what patience he had was nonexistent, a rumor, and the moon was set now, a dormant thirst, but still aware and ever-burning. So he breathed deeply of the crisp, autumnal air that tasted of wild berries and the North – the grains of patience fell through the hour glass and neared the pinnacle as he loomed, observant, studious. The distance between them he closed with a few long-strided steps, his hollow glance reflecting hollow amusement. His easily-misjudged indifference reared its ugly head as he peered closely at the finer details of her cheek and jaw, and the almond crevice that held her soft lavender eye. She looked to him, a cat-like prowl of words laced to her svelte tongue, “tell me,” and there was a jut of arrogant hips as irony cocked, aimed, “what have you to gain from knowing my reasons.”

Fired.

Wuuthrex stared unblinkingly. The quirk of a smile graced the corner of his mouth. “I'm afraid I've put you under the wrong impression.” The sun melted over the plane of his back and set his egyptian blue eyes on fire. He purred through black velour, “You're the one who stands to gain something. After all, this isn't your home anymore, and we all know what happens to unwanted intruders.”

( shoddy ending, sorry ]: )

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[bg=#E0E8EF][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,400,table] A picture of him is becoming clearer in my sight whether he knows or not. Hazy pieces of a puzzle slamming into place with every sour note and bothered sigh. I know he thinks me a child and he is partially correct. I cannot cope with the ideas surrounding a woman’s adulthood, my chances ruined by a demanding, psychotic brother. This is all I will divulge on the source of my behavior as at present I cannot let my guard slip; better he think me an infant than a damaged…nothing. A sliver of pain closes my eyes as I wish things could be different but my guard slips back up, my self-defense mechanism, and I force a smile to my lips for him to see while my head is still turned. Truthfully I do not understand how a sibling can cause so much agony in the lives of their family members. My thoughts begin to roam back to the topic I refuse to discuss aloud and it is seconds into this line of thinking I sense a change in the atmosphere. A cold seeps into my skin as though the tendrils of my brother’s spirit seekers, I call them witch doctors, find me. The feeling is quickly brushed away. These lands will not be tainted by my overactive imagination; perhaps this stallion is correct and I am more child than adult. My guard is reinforced, my brother’s vines hacked into submission in time to catch the words, ”Make me out however you wish, whatever helps you sleep at night.” I sigh lightly and ease back into my role of child. ”An unneeded comment, Sir, as you already know I shall.” This time my tone is a bit mellower as if bored with the conversation, far more mellow than I intended. I let the moment pass, he can make what he will out of my tone if he feels the need to examine it; I highly doubt he will which is a small measure of comfort to me. I cannot let this ruse fall, no, I cannot afford to let this ruse fall, but I can sense it beginning to collapse. He approaches and I do not make a move to suggest my discomfort, lavender eyes staring off into the distance as though I can see through the trunks of the thickest trees. I do not look at him, drilling my gaze into the nearest patch of greenery, my game ran its course and I dare not let him see. My childish antics ceasing for now as I do not think I have the strength to pull the mask back over my face just yet as demonstrated by my reply. ”I’m afraid I’ve put you under the wrong impression” A knife sinks into my barely moving chest as I scarcely breathe. ”You’re the one who stands to gain something. After all, this isn’t your home anymore, and we all know what happens to unwanted intruders.” A rueful smile dances on my lips for an instant before it is smothered. ”I know what happens when the unwanted intruders win.” The words leave my lips before I can pull them back, I did not mean to let him see and perhaps he will ignore it or not see it. Either way, my time is up. I murmur lowly a single word while turning away from him and heading to the only entrance and exit, ”Traitors.” I have never been an unwanted intruder before and the word tears at my heart, I am either wrongfully wanted as is the case with my brother or I am…unwanted. The word brings a metallic taste to my mouth and I walk faster toward the exit from my safest haven, my eyes an empty, cold slate. OOC: Complete. I am surprised by the turn my post took, I apologize if it will be difficult to reply to. Listening to: Turn it Off by Paramore

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As omniscient as she may or may not be, there were hundreds upon thousands of scholars and war admirals, victims who in their last gasping, dying breath had tried to understand the inconceivable. They appeased him; asking not the predictable why, but a more logical and colorless how? For the cause was always answered with one look, one sober glance into the eyes of Ares, as his bloodlust drew to its pinnacle and pierced that whimsical, fickle thing known as a soul. The function, however – the how –, was simply a matter of mechanics and definition; a series of sequential contemplations that studied not only movement, but breath – belief. And those were only two questions asked of those who had once known Wuuthrex as he used to be; there were millions more, enough to swallow out the sun; questions that were mutant and viral, and infected men until their last rasping breath. So let it be then. Let her try to paint a picture in her mind, her omniscient brain, of who he was, what he was, and how he worked. Let her as everyone else had. She would never know the truth; all the reports were wrong or misinterpreted – translations of some scripture in Revelations that went wrong between one grapheme or another. And let her, too, think that she could compare him to anyone she had ever known. If he had thought it would be useful, he might have given her a hint. A prod in the right direction. She was slamming her puzzle pieces together all wrong, forcing them into the wrong slot because, what, she was too frustrated to be patient and figure it out herself? Perhaps.

Honestly, he did not give a damn.

“An unneeded comment, sir, as you already know I shall.” Did he? Wuuthrex was as interested in knowing what she would or would not do as he was the dirt under their feet. Instead of imposing that thought upon her, though, he stilled his tongue and looked to the sun-drenched hill in which he had been perched, pensive. This was becoming tedious, he thought, boring. There was a reason why he despised children: they were high maintenance and he abhorred their proclivity to waste time, especially his time. “I know what happens –” time that he could spend doing something interesting or, at the very least, productive “– when the unwanted intruders win.” An ear flicked, an eye blinked, but that was all. He neither ignored nor addressed the remark; instead, Wuuthrex chose to have it sit in his mind, settle and sink deep, deep into the confines of thoughts and the darkness harbored there. It was a glean, he supposed, a fractured piece of herself that she could not help but vomit – what was he supposed to do with that? Remorse and pity were not terms found in the expanse of his vocabulary, and he turned to watch her shift with a frayed, impervious expression. “Traitors.” He watched her move with listless fascination, an apathy that was far from cruel but every shade of blistering disdain. Maybe it wasn't sympathy, but there was a tug, a very distinct and grainy notion of – he didn't know the word – gnawing ravenously in the cold cavern of his chest. There was, out of nowhere, a want, “Running, are you?” and it was insipid. “No wonder your intruders won.”


( annnnd there's your opening;
make him adore her )

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[bg=#E0E8EF][atrb=border,0,table][atrb=width,400,table] I cannot expect him to understand the level of agony the loss of my parents and the sudden fall of my brother’s mental state causes me but nor do I deny the possibility that perhaps he does know the pain I know. I do not examine this as I do not wish to examine my own pain, something I will have to do in order to explore the possibility of him understanding. The metallic flavor mutilating my taste buds thickens as each step I take fractures my mind; thoughts of what has been invading my mind, so much like those who betrayed us. I can see images, snapshots, of the invaders with menacing glares and weapons poised and a scream catches in my throat as the terrors reserved for the night begin to play in front of my wide eyes. Thankful that I am facing away from his scornful gaze, I walk a minute amount faster, horrified that he may see everything come crashing. Running, are you? Don’t say it! No wonder your intruders won. And the stony, cold gaze burns bright with the hottest of blue flames for just a moment as feet come slamming to a stop. The knife so effortlessly and unknowingly placed twists and turns, opening my chest for his world to see. The fires subside into a snarling but controlled rage, I have never fought another living soul in all the universe but today, I just may. Turning my lips move to speak but nothing comes out as I take in the placid look hung on his disgustingly bare features. He mocks me yet shows nothing; this is my breaking point. The cage breaks and the fires burn brighter as the memories of my family dance in front of me, smudging his form as my anger builds. The childish façade I present, my only defense mechanism, returns as I rush in his direction. Like a child, I drum my skull and forelimbs against his taunt chest, fighting with myself and my memories as much as I am fighting against him; the words he spoke that broke my heart. Doubts plaguing me, if I were allowed to train as a fighter would my family still live? Tears pool and quickly fall as all my hidden wounds surface, staining my cheeks. ”You do not understand! I tried to save them, I tried!” I cry out, more to the ghosts haunting me than to him. I am lost in a world of broken dreams and painful memories. My mind fractures as much as my heart and I soon collapse against the same chest I harmlessly struck. My shoulders shake as I sob uncontrollably into his neck, ”I tried, I swear to you I did.” Never before have I mourned for my parents, my entire kingdom, as I am now. Minutes pass before my cries become muffled, lavender eyes too afraid to see the world squeeze tightly closed, and once more I plead with the ghosts and perhaps with him to understand, ”I tried…” And I am hollow, empty and broken. Abhorring him for his words and abhorring myself for what I just did. OOC: I power-played a bit, but I think I stayed within the guidelines of the rules. Of course, if you want me to change anything, I will. =)

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Sweet, sweet little Athena: where had she to run? She was lost in the Minotaur's maze, dropped there as her myth abandoned her to the pit and the darkness, so lost that he could almost taste the ghosts as they haloed malignly about her pretty golden head. Even if he knew empathy, even if he could empathize, the Scavenger King was lost in a void of his own, a place where none could follow and he refused to leave. “You do not understand!” This void, his black abyss, was a place that was as secure as the world around him could be depended upon to crumble – just as her world, in that solitary moment, was crumbling. Within that void, there was no safety or peace; there was simply an existence, a croon of some touch he could not feel, but that lingered and nulled, like a beautiful cancer. “I tried to save them!”And it was to him, only him, that she had to run, the poor girl. Lost in the maze, haunted, and her aching heart was in his hands, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. How that must feel he could not fathom, for he had always had no one but himself to rely upon and it was so easy now to watch her flounder, writhe, because she was suddenly too much for her own shoulders, her own soul, to bear. “I swear to you, I tried.” And it was just him, just him, to which she could run, hide, scream. He who would watch her perish in her own misery without so much as a drop of worry, or even a smile. He, who was lost in his apathetic cancer, who did not care to fix the poor thing that was so utterly broken.

“I tried …”
She would have been better off with the Minotaur.

“You tried.” How many children like her had he left to cry in empty arms? Men had died under his hand far more than he could count, than he could possibly remember. Blood was a commonplace stain on his acrylics, though he could never tell whose blood it was, his or theirs. What of the blood of their families? Did rivers of red bleed as she bled now for the damage he had inflicted? Perhaps, but he mulled over it – and her – with little interest in what was out of reach, out of grasp. He studied her shakes and her shivers, her plaintive and childish battering against his chest, the way she sagged against him like creek water on a mountain side. It was not pity with which he absorbed her poor, poor self, for let it be said again that there was no such thing within his vocabulary. Yet he watched her unblinkingly and was overcome again by that want, that nefarious need … in her fragile state he stood as her rock, humming the first bar of a eulogy, “You tried and that's all that should matter.” As destruction's instigator, it's advocate, he saw the world as a collision of severable strings; chords that were strong and sometimes thin, others like wire, many bare and in tatters before they were even strung. Destruction came as easy as the bend and break of a thread be it wool or silk, and as one who held scissors in his own hand he could whisper no sweet nothing that would nullify his own ten thousand crimes. But there was this, no? There was her, the woodland nymph, her desperate cry for sweet, sweet release. And there was what he could do, his gift, his blessing, his curse, and the notion of kindness settled finely in between. “Now try to let it go.”

( this is horrible, and I apologize. I'm distracted and my computer lagging is such a turn off. Just, ugh. I'll be better next time. )