She was fluid, water and air, flowing even when half of her body wouldn’t obey her commands. Obstacles arose in her path and she slipped around them or rose above them… until they came crashing down on her, as the Temple had done.
And he? He was a stone, cracked and crumbling about the foundations, unmoving until the day came when he would fall and shatter upon the challenges of life on Caido, his own weight bearing him down, his rigidity the key to his undoing.
Everything she said struck answering chords in him, as he assumed they would in most people. Fear of loss, of failure, both of which happened far too frequently in both their lives. He nodded wordlessly in agreement and understanding, reaching out to stroke Isuma’s back as words shifted to thoughts and to more intimate fears. The ones that were dangerous to say aloud, because what would people think if they heard them? If they thought a person less than strong, less than perfect, for having them?
He curled his fingers lightly into Isuma’s feathery ruff and swallowed hard, staring at the gryphlet but not seeing her. Yes, he said softly. Every two steps we manage to take forward is followed by falling three steps back again within a season or two. It’s frustrating as hell… He drew in a breath, looking up at her with a solemn vulpine tilt of his head. But if we didn’t at least try, didn’t work to get those two steps forward, when the world comes crashing down we’d be five steps behind instead of one. He hesitated a moment, then offered her his hand again, for no other reason than he missed the connection between them. And because in between the pain and the storms and the catastrophes there’s still days where we can smile, and be with the people we care for, and bake bread and sing songs and live our almost-normal lives. Those are the days worth trying for, even if they’re few and far between. Far too few, and with fewer people he cared for left alive every season, but the ones who remained? They were still worth loving and wanting to make the world a better place for, no matter how futile the effort.
And he? He was a stone, cracked and crumbling about the foundations, unmoving until the day came when he would fall and shatter upon the challenges of life on Caido, his own weight bearing him down, his rigidity the key to his undoing.
Everything she said struck answering chords in him, as he assumed they would in most people. Fear of loss, of failure, both of which happened far too frequently in both their lives. He nodded wordlessly in agreement and understanding, reaching out to stroke Isuma’s back as words shifted to thoughts and to more intimate fears. The ones that were dangerous to say aloud, because what would people think if they heard them? If they thought a person less than strong, less than perfect, for having them?
He curled his fingers lightly into Isuma’s feathery ruff and swallowed hard, staring at the gryphlet but not seeing her. Yes, he said softly. Every two steps we manage to take forward is followed by falling three steps back again within a season or two. It’s frustrating as hell… He drew in a breath, looking up at her with a solemn vulpine tilt of his head. But if we didn’t at least try, didn’t work to get those two steps forward, when the world comes crashing down we’d be five steps behind instead of one. He hesitated a moment, then offered her his hand again, for no other reason than he missed the connection between them. And because in between the pain and the storms and the catastrophes there’s still days where we can smile, and be with the people we care for, and bake bread and sing songs and live our almost-normal lives. Those are the days worth trying for, even if they’re few and far between. Far too few, and with fewer people he cared for left alive every season, but the ones who remained? They were still worth loving and wanting to make the world a better place for, no matter how futile the effort.
