I will be your lighthouse
Having licked most of the egg from its shell, Goose lay among its remnants, watching the back and forth between the pair. Iskra's rising heart rate caught the dog's attention, but while it might normally signal his rise to stand beside the man, he remained, his wet nose merely twitching. In healing, there is often pain. And ducks. As Melita tossed the driftwood mallard, Goose watched it, all the way up until it struck him gently on his forehead. Unbothered, he tilted his head to look at it as it softly bounced to a halt near him. Just the very tip of his tail wagged for a moment, then he lunched for it, grasping it eagerly in his teeth. It made an extremely satisfying squeak and hiss of air as he pressed it against his gums. Happily, Goose rolled it between his paws and his mouth, grumbling and snorting as he played with his gift.
Iskra spared a glance at the dog and his antics. He couldn't quite find the smile again yet, but his heart swelled at the sight of the contented mongrel, even more so that it was by Melita's hand. He'd been missing moments like this all this time, and for what? For his foolishness was all. As she spoke once more, unruffled, he looked back upon her, the sounds of Goose's joy fading into idle background noise. He was still on his log, but it felt like he was gradually floating away from it, drifting in a wash of nerves. He tapped his foot, attempting to ground himself, and anxiously took another bite of his toast. He just needed the forced action, something for his body to do so that the fear could not keep crawling out so freely. "Because... look at you." he said with a rasp, his throat dry from toast and unspent emotion. "As you said, you've lost too, and yet you did not become... this." He exhaled swiftly, the sound a huff, a defeat. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. His foot tapped again. "You've been strong this whole time. I didn't think—I mean why would you—how could you..." His plate felt so damn heavy. "I'm not worth your time. Not like this." He was a weight when she was meant to fly. Once, long ago, he'd been able to fly with her, been a warm breeze to help lift her, but not now.
Iskra spared a glance at the dog and his antics. He couldn't quite find the smile again yet, but his heart swelled at the sight of the contented mongrel, even more so that it was by Melita's hand. He'd been missing moments like this all this time, and for what? For his foolishness was all. As she spoke once more, unruffled, he looked back upon her, the sounds of Goose's joy fading into idle background noise. He was still on his log, but it felt like he was gradually floating away from it, drifting in a wash of nerves. He tapped his foot, attempting to ground himself, and anxiously took another bite of his toast. He just needed the forced action, something for his body to do so that the fear could not keep crawling out so freely. "Because... look at you." he said with a rasp, his throat dry from toast and unspent emotion. "As you said, you've lost too, and yet you did not become... this." He exhaled swiftly, the sound a huff, a defeat. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. His foot tapped again. "You've been strong this whole time. I didn't think—I mean why would you—how could you..." His plate felt so damn heavy. "I'm not worth your time. Not like this." He was a weight when she was meant to fly. Once, long ago, he'd been able to fly with her, been a warm breeze to help lift her, but not now.
Iskra
