Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
21.Sep.13, 09:59 PM
Fade In.........
Z'jan was cold now.
Had he been asleep? He started to open his eyes, but the late afternoon light was striking directly onto his face. He caught a few glimpses of rock and stone before he closed them again, letting his pinpoint pupils rest. No. He didn't feel like he'd been asleep. But he'd been somewhere else. And rocks?
He remembered the ledge. He'd been climbing. Maybe he'd fallen? He felt for his own body. It ached, bad. He couldn't seem to move. Perhaps he had fallen? But why hadn't Ghalath caught him? She would never let him hit the ground. She'd was always just above him, reading to lunge if slipped. After all, a gash from her talons and a dislocated shoulder were better than a smashed skull or broken back. She was always there for him. But... where was she now?
He felt for his dragon's mind. To his surprise, she slept. And she slept as deep as the night she'd hatched. Sleeping? While he was lying here, broken, at the base of some cliff? That didn't make any sense. Again, Z'jan tried to move, to sit or stand. But it was as though a weight were pressing down on his chest. He flexed his hands, found they were gripping something. Something was on top of him. But it wasn't boulder. It was a man.
Despite the blinding sun, Z'jan forced his eyes open. He could just make out the shape of a shoulder. O'wain's shoulder. The whole thing came flooding back to him. In a clean sweep, he was overtaken by feelings of mortification, satisfaction, embarrassment, fulfillment, and fear. He swallowed; but inside he was choking. Because if this was O'wain, then Nishkath had caught Ghalath. And if Nishkath had caught Ghalath, then Ghalath was asleep with Nishkath.
And if Ghalath was asleep with Nishkath...
... then both of them were still stuck on the ledge.
The mountain air was biting against Z'jan's skin, but where his skin touched O'wain's the temperature was still tolerable. He took as deep a breath as he could manage with his aching ribs. Then, unsure why, he pressed his forehead slowly into the neck presented to him: he hid in the hallow created by the other man's shoulder, neck, and collarbone. It was warm there, and dark. He closed his eyes, if only for a moment. Maybe he was hiding from the sun. Maybe the truth.
Or maybe he needed a little comfort. Just this once.
Z'jan was cold now.
Had he been asleep? He started to open his eyes, but the late afternoon light was striking directly onto his face. He caught a few glimpses of rock and stone before he closed them again, letting his pinpoint pupils rest. No. He didn't feel like he'd been asleep. But he'd been somewhere else. And rocks?
He remembered the ledge. He'd been climbing. Maybe he'd fallen? He felt for his own body. It ached, bad. He couldn't seem to move. Perhaps he had fallen? But why hadn't Ghalath caught him? She would never let him hit the ground. She'd was always just above him, reading to lunge if slipped. After all, a gash from her talons and a dislocated shoulder were better than a smashed skull or broken back. She was always there for him. But... where was she now?
He felt for his dragon's mind. To his surprise, she slept. And she slept as deep as the night she'd hatched. Sleeping? While he was lying here, broken, at the base of some cliff? That didn't make any sense. Again, Z'jan tried to move, to sit or stand. But it was as though a weight were pressing down on his chest. He flexed his hands, found they were gripping something. Something was on top of him. But it wasn't boulder. It was a man.
Despite the blinding sun, Z'jan forced his eyes open. He could just make out the shape of a shoulder. O'wain's shoulder. The whole thing came flooding back to him. In a clean sweep, he was overtaken by feelings of mortification, satisfaction, embarrassment, fulfillment, and fear. He swallowed; but inside he was choking. Because if this was O'wain, then Nishkath had caught Ghalath. And if Nishkath had caught Ghalath, then Ghalath was asleep with Nishkath.
And if Ghalath was asleep with Nishkath...
... then both of them were still stuck on the ledge.
The mountain air was biting against Z'jan's skin, but where his skin touched O'wain's the temperature was still tolerable. He took as deep a breath as he could manage with his aching ribs. Then, unsure why, he pressed his forehead slowly into the neck presented to him: he hid in the hallow created by the other man's shoulder, neck, and collarbone. It was warm there, and dark. He closed his eyes, if only for a moment. Maybe he was hiding from the sun. Maybe the truth.
Or maybe he needed a little comfort. Just this once.
