BROKEN ANGELS

The children were taking an evening nap after an abrupt, but warranted, bicker between the three of them. Their personalities were so pronounced and so singular from one another that such bursts were not uncommon in the family. Deteste was skilled at defusing such situations but he realized that when the children were grown, that role would be taken from him. So he distanced himself from them a bit more each time, allowing them to settle the dispute according to their own terms for he had already for he had already set a pattern for them to follow. The man was tired yet his body ached for movement and upon hearing Medusa's call he would stand and turn tail to the sleeping children knowing it was unlikely for them to wake before night claimed the mangroves.



The man would eye her in the distance. Her obsidian pelt shining in a dull red light with the angle of the low, evening sun. The strange reflection would juxtapose the woman's eyes, which so often stole away the man's attention. His gait would break a mere stride away from Medusa and his maw would extend towards hers, sharing warmth and smell but lacking touch. It was gesture that had become common between them since they had left Amenti. Medusa the depth of his voice would leave him, the name spoken the way a knight may address their sovereign. A reverent nod would complete his greeting but his eyes would never leave her own. They stirred strange contemplation in the man's mind, dredging memories that he preferred to set aside yet he lingered at the edge of such thought, daring to dip into such dangerous territory to understand what the woman was to him.