KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
Ah, but it felt like a betrayal. Of his parents, his siblings, of all the people who helped raise him and make him who he was. Criticizing would mean he wasn't grateful... or so it seemed to him. Unconvinced, Korbin stared down into his drink and hummed, not really happy about what he was hearing. But then, he couldn't quite recall when he'd last been truly happy, so nothing new there.
Maybe it was the uncomfortable heat of the room and his unsuitable clothes, or maybe it was the drink, but Korbin felt warmth spread within. It made him relax perhaps a bit more than intended, enough that he snorted at the comment. "Even I'm more fun than Loren," he quipped back, a wry amusement glinting within dark blue eyes. "That's setting the bar real low. That's the only difference then? And here I was, thinking you were gonna say something profound."
Then he actually laughed, a deep musical sound that had very little to do with the raucous cawing one might expect from a proffessed corvid. "That's Weaver, alright," he agreed. "Then she'll force you to shift and pluck your feathers clean off as apology. Or just because she fancies a new cloak. So I hope for your sake you don't have a bird shift."
It sounded way too much like personal experience... A notion underlined by the haunted look that passed over the young man's face.
Maybe it was the uncomfortable heat of the room and his unsuitable clothes, or maybe it was the drink, but Korbin felt warmth spread within. It made him relax perhaps a bit more than intended, enough that he snorted at the comment. "Even I'm more fun than Loren," he quipped back, a wry amusement glinting within dark blue eyes. "That's setting the bar real low. That's the only difference then? And here I was, thinking you were gonna say something profound."
Then he actually laughed, a deep musical sound that had very little to do with the raucous cawing one might expect from a proffessed corvid. "That's Weaver, alright," he agreed. "Then she'll force you to shift and pluck your feathers clean off as apology. Or just because she fancies a new cloak. So I hope for your sake you don't have a bird shift."
It sounded way too much like personal experience... A notion underlined by the haunted look that passed over the young man's face.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
