Post by Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro) on Dec 30, 2016 21:23:41 GMT -8
((3078.05.21 | Hilly outskirts of Shimmer Bay))
Survival was a powerful instinct. Every time K’rad sat down to a meal he learned that anew, the first taste of food wakening a powerful drive, a drive to consume as much of it as was physically possible. Somehow, he was left still hungry yet stuffed full simultaneously, a discomfort to accompany the nigh constant ache of his joints. He’d grown several inches, something more than a full third of a foot, since he’d been brought here to where Kh’sol came from. He’d even found himself learning to like young goats, something that Belegurth simply could not understand.
Why do you insist on playing with them?
They’re cute, K’rad pointed out, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Jamira would have loved the things, would have taken great joy in running around with them and giving them all names. She’d probably have brushed them too.
Closing his eyes against the burn in them, K’rad swallowed. The lump remained in his throat though, and small tracks of moisture appeared on his cheeks despite the fierceness with which he squinted shut his eyes. Desperately, he begged fate that his little sister had not had the time for fear, for pain. He doubted it, but he clung to it anyway. Please, let his family have simply not woken up from sleep. They’d done nothing to deserve anything worse.
Words started to intrude, Belegurth’s words, but K’rad pushed them away. He didn’t want to hear about any of it, didn’t want to have pointed out the likelihood (or rather, lack thereof) of that hope being true in any sense.
I’m sorry, K’rad whimpered. So, so sorry.
Someone’s coming!
Quickly scraping an arm over his eyes to dry them, K’rad snapped his head up and around, looking back over his shoulder.
Survival was a powerful instinct. Every time K’rad sat down to a meal he learned that anew, the first taste of food wakening a powerful drive, a drive to consume as much of it as was physically possible. Somehow, he was left still hungry yet stuffed full simultaneously, a discomfort to accompany the nigh constant ache of his joints. He’d grown several inches, something more than a full third of a foot, since he’d been brought here to where Kh’sol came from. He’d even found himself learning to like young goats, something that Belegurth simply could not understand.
Why do you insist on playing with them?
They’re cute, K’rad pointed out, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Jamira would have loved the things, would have taken great joy in running around with them and giving them all names. She’d probably have brushed them too.
Closing his eyes against the burn in them, K’rad swallowed. The lump remained in his throat though, and small tracks of moisture appeared on his cheeks despite the fierceness with which he squinted shut his eyes. Desperately, he begged fate that his little sister had not had the time for fear, for pain. He doubted it, but he clung to it anyway. Please, let his family have simply not woken up from sleep. They’d done nothing to deserve anything worse.
Words started to intrude, Belegurth’s words, but K’rad pushed them away. He didn’t want to hear about any of it, didn’t want to have pointed out the likelihood (or rather, lack thereof) of that hope being true in any sense.
I’m sorry, K’rad whimpered. So, so sorry.
Someone’s coming!
Quickly scraping an arm over his eyes to dry them, K’rad snapped his head up and around, looking back over his shoulder.