holiday from real
ronan
12-01-2024, 02:09 PM
They resumed their strange ballet of verbal sparring and Makara fell easily into the needling pattern. It was like she was reenacting scenes from her childhood, except he was much larger than her Levi and not quite big enough to be Basilisk. Yuck. This whole situation was turning into a mock family reunion, anyhow (although nothing would prepare her for the way her stomach would bottom out when she saw Bas again). "Naiveté is reserved for the young and innocent, of which I am regretfully neither," she added, her eyes flicking to him for a moment and then away again. The lenses of her goggles provided some much needed emotional distance. He was prying, prying, digging and wheedling...
"Don't you ever get tired of the sound of your voice?"
It was as if the oxygen between them had suddenly been spirited away and the silence left in its absence ached like the old wound it was. She was made young again, her father seething at her: Spit it out. Do not speak unless spoken to. You are dismissed. You are dismissed. You are dismissed. Makara stood up slowly, eyes set north. Was she truly going to return there? Even a beaten dog knows its way home when it finally slips its chain.
"No," she said softly, turning back to look at him once more. "My voice is my oldest, dearest, and singular friend. Goodbye, Ronan. I hope you find what you're looking for - or that what's looking for you will darken your doorstep soon enough." Makara skidded down the side of the dune and began the trudge north unless he chose to intervene.
pixel by king-lulu-deer on DA - coding by xarae
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