The world is what we make it
05-25-2019, 03:40 PM
Lament Pyre The small family pressed together, three dark coats in a rough circle. Their paws occasionally tapped as they spoke their emotions to the each other. Ballad was hopefully, and fearful and he knew he was afraid for what they might discover. Lament couldn’t live in ignorance, and had been searching from day one to understand the disjointed pieces that occasionally strayed through his mind. The tree in his dreams called to him. Ballad would speak to their sister about her habits, ones her body had formed that her mind no longer remembered. Lament did not have this same muscle memory. To him, his body spoke of the motions of war, and little else. Perhaps this was a female thing they did, but the thought did not resonate with him, and he did not believe it. So why did they do what they did, and not he? Eris pressed into their sister, her voice spoke of worry, and she would begin to speak about a religion their people knew. He sat quietly, and listened politely, as was the way of his people. Eris would seat herself before them, prepared to tell them the stories of their people. He gratefully desired to hear them, and gave her a gentle tap support his paw murmured as he lay down beside Ballad, across from Eris, where his paws could still touch hers, but he could look at her as she told her stories. The stories of religion did not resonate with him, and he felt this wasn’t a missing link to his life, but he could feel Ballad’s attention beside him. Could understand how Eris’s words spoke of of the rituals Ballad desired to make. He might not understand them, but he could respect their importance to his sisters, and he would look on in rapt attention. |
