Post by Grayell on Jul 13, 2013 16:44:53 GMT -5
Grayell had returned home to find their treehouse empty, cold and quiet. It was not unusual, though it was never comforting. Both he and Kiko had taken to the habit of simply going about their own business with the understanding that the other, would simply understand. Grayell would realize later, or rather much sooner than that, that he'd been very, very foolish in his complacency.
His mind ran over a short list of a few things she might be doing at this hour. Training, meeting with Dominic, seeing to the wolves, hunting or perhaps, and the thought wasn't entirely appealing, she had gone to the North once more, to spend more time with the Garou. That was an odd thing for Grayell, in that they were the closest semblance to family he had known since his home land. Yukiko spent more time there than he though and as he was only a man, like many other men, it made him feel rather confused at times. Strange, as though there were something there, a need that she had that he just couldn't fulfill here. He didn't reflect on that right now but again, he would do so later. Or rather, sooner.
The fishing spear clattered to the balcony just as his hand slapped the wood and his fingers latched on to pull him up an 'into' their home. He leaned down to pick up his catch and it was then, in the little light that the moon afforded on this dark and cloudy night, that he spotted her hair. His eyes went wide with the sudden realization of what it was, his body froze and a chill ran from his throat and into his gut that threatened to make him sick. He held on for a moment, willed his body to calm and instead, picked it up. It was both soft and smooth, unlike the mess his hair so regularly became. She spent countless hours brushing it and it was a very significant detail in all the best memories he had of their time together.
He brought it to his nose and smelled it, his eyes closing for a moment. In that moment, something scared whispered in the farthest reaches of his mind and prayed to anything that might listen, that she'd be there. That her touch would fall on his shoulder and he'd turn about, to have her curl up between his arms. He told it to silence, told it that it was unnecessary. He would regret that , if only because any faint glimmer of hope or intervention from the gods was better than the nothingness he would have to endure later. Or rather, sooner.
He paced through their home, her hair clutched preciously in his right hand. He did not call for her. He had checked their bed and she was not there. Scared, frightened and fearful images had taunted him, suggested that she might be ill, dying or dead there somehow and that he had failed in protecting her from something truly terrible, something that he had brought upon their home. Grayell was not an irrational person, but fear toyed with his mind in moments of uncertainty, moments when something so precious as his Chosen was suddenly gone. And she was. He'd checked their home and it had not taken long. There was no sign of a fight, or injury, no scent of malice and no bristle down his neck that alerted him to any degree of conflict, or pain, or anything malicious. No. She was just gone.
It took him some time to think on it, if only because he was a simple oaf and his mind did not want to think on many things at this time. There was a war within him presently and his mind was barely holding reign over his bodies countless demands, primal and urgent things that wanted his blood hot, his muscles burning, his lungs singed and his throat ragged. He stopped, his shoulder crashing into the doorway between the house and the balcony and his foot pawed at the floor beneath. Something was telling him to run and calling him by his true name, something was pleading, tempting, beckoning and ordering him to run. He could not. He held onto wanting to hold her, and now.
He'd lit nothing in their home. The dark had it swallowed up and held firmly in it's grasp but all the same, his senses finally settled on the chest. I could not tell you why, neither could he, but there was lingering something upon it that had Grayell finally approach and whilst his hand hesitated and his mind told him that he should not if only because it might confirm his worst worries, he did, eventually, pry it open. There was no regretting that later, it had been done. The lid fell shut as he turned and his fingers curled, nails dragging red welts in his palm.
Grayell held his composure well. He always had. It wasn't a heroic thing, or noble thing, it wasn't something he did out of bravery or for some higher calling, it was just that he very much disliked the pain that brought him down. His body was a sea of scars, few of which had seen him shed a tear. but his mind; his mind felt much like a bloodied and beaten melon, left in a messy pulp that simply did not have the resolve to withstand such pain. The muscles in his jaw flared and his teeth clenched all too hard, his eyes welling and that wetness chilling in the night breeze. Still, he held firm.
He made his way to the railing on the balcony, his foot ignoring the spear as it clattered in his path to then fall free to the forest ground below. His free hand, the one not blessed with her hair, wound itself about the railing and it was there that he halted, looking into the inkwell of the night. His eyes found nothing and truly, there was nothing to be found, nothing for him in the depths of the dark. It left him both alone and disarmed and the cold now, seemed much worse than only minutes before. The world seemed very large, the night seemed very deep and his head spun, for the need to turn and turn and turn and be sure that nothing was lurking, prowling behind him and ready to run him through. His skin prickled, a chill ran over him entirely and with that chill that rocked his gut once more, that sickness rolled up his throat and to his mouth, where he though most certainly it would spill out and onto his feet. He brought her hair once more to his nose and it was then that the scent quelled it all. It also tore down the last wall.
Grayell fell, his body slumping off the rail as he crashed to his knees, his eyes spilling their grief and a ragged, hopeless sob shattering the silence of the night.
She had gone. And now, right now, he regretted everything.
(No GM, please.)
His mind ran over a short list of a few things she might be doing at this hour. Training, meeting with Dominic, seeing to the wolves, hunting or perhaps, and the thought wasn't entirely appealing, she had gone to the North once more, to spend more time with the Garou. That was an odd thing for Grayell, in that they were the closest semblance to family he had known since his home land. Yukiko spent more time there than he though and as he was only a man, like many other men, it made him feel rather confused at times. Strange, as though there were something there, a need that she had that he just couldn't fulfill here. He didn't reflect on that right now but again, he would do so later. Or rather, sooner.
The fishing spear clattered to the balcony just as his hand slapped the wood and his fingers latched on to pull him up an 'into' their home. He leaned down to pick up his catch and it was then, in the little light that the moon afforded on this dark and cloudy night, that he spotted her hair. His eyes went wide with the sudden realization of what it was, his body froze and a chill ran from his throat and into his gut that threatened to make him sick. He held on for a moment, willed his body to calm and instead, picked it up. It was both soft and smooth, unlike the mess his hair so regularly became. She spent countless hours brushing it and it was a very significant detail in all the best memories he had of their time together.
He brought it to his nose and smelled it, his eyes closing for a moment. In that moment, something scared whispered in the farthest reaches of his mind and prayed to anything that might listen, that she'd be there. That her touch would fall on his shoulder and he'd turn about, to have her curl up between his arms. He told it to silence, told it that it was unnecessary. He would regret that , if only because any faint glimmer of hope or intervention from the gods was better than the nothingness he would have to endure later. Or rather, sooner.
He paced through their home, her hair clutched preciously in his right hand. He did not call for her. He had checked their bed and she was not there. Scared, frightened and fearful images had taunted him, suggested that she might be ill, dying or dead there somehow and that he had failed in protecting her from something truly terrible, something that he had brought upon their home. Grayell was not an irrational person, but fear toyed with his mind in moments of uncertainty, moments when something so precious as his Chosen was suddenly gone. And she was. He'd checked their home and it had not taken long. There was no sign of a fight, or injury, no scent of malice and no bristle down his neck that alerted him to any degree of conflict, or pain, or anything malicious. No. She was just gone.
It took him some time to think on it, if only because he was a simple oaf and his mind did not want to think on many things at this time. There was a war within him presently and his mind was barely holding reign over his bodies countless demands, primal and urgent things that wanted his blood hot, his muscles burning, his lungs singed and his throat ragged. He stopped, his shoulder crashing into the doorway between the house and the balcony and his foot pawed at the floor beneath. Something was telling him to run and calling him by his true name, something was pleading, tempting, beckoning and ordering him to run. He could not. He held onto wanting to hold her, and now.
He'd lit nothing in their home. The dark had it swallowed up and held firmly in it's grasp but all the same, his senses finally settled on the chest. I could not tell you why, neither could he, but there was lingering something upon it that had Grayell finally approach and whilst his hand hesitated and his mind told him that he should not if only because it might confirm his worst worries, he did, eventually, pry it open. There was no regretting that later, it had been done. The lid fell shut as he turned and his fingers curled, nails dragging red welts in his palm.
Grayell held his composure well. He always had. It wasn't a heroic thing, or noble thing, it wasn't something he did out of bravery or for some higher calling, it was just that he very much disliked the pain that brought him down. His body was a sea of scars, few of which had seen him shed a tear. but his mind; his mind felt much like a bloodied and beaten melon, left in a messy pulp that simply did not have the resolve to withstand such pain. The muscles in his jaw flared and his teeth clenched all too hard, his eyes welling and that wetness chilling in the night breeze. Still, he held firm.
He made his way to the railing on the balcony, his foot ignoring the spear as it clattered in his path to then fall free to the forest ground below. His free hand, the one not blessed with her hair, wound itself about the railing and it was there that he halted, looking into the inkwell of the night. His eyes found nothing and truly, there was nothing to be found, nothing for him in the depths of the dark. It left him both alone and disarmed and the cold now, seemed much worse than only minutes before. The world seemed very large, the night seemed very deep and his head spun, for the need to turn and turn and turn and be sure that nothing was lurking, prowling behind him and ready to run him through. His skin prickled, a chill ran over him entirely and with that chill that rocked his gut once more, that sickness rolled up his throat and to his mouth, where he though most certainly it would spill out and onto his feet. He brought her hair once more to his nose and it was then that the scent quelled it all. It also tore down the last wall.
Grayell fell, his body slumping off the rail as he crashed to his knees, his eyes spilling their grief and a ragged, hopeless sob shattering the silence of the night.
She had gone. And now, right now, he regretted everything.
(No GM, please.)