// we stood, steady as the stars in the woods, so happy-hearted
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //
and the warmth rang true inside these bones, as the old pine fell we sang //
Luckily for Aamu, Azrael doesn’t understand. They don’t understand the position that Aamu takes – ready for battle, ready for fight – but they do find it a beautiful portrait, something that they think their father would like to paint if ever given the chance. The grace of war, or something similar… But they’ve gotten off track.
Their smile grows wider as Aamu’s stance softens, as the Ascended’s hand runs through his pale moonlit hair. Azrael practically beams. “I was sitting.” They announce as if it hadn’t been obvious, though there’s no malice in their words. Just… Facts. They had been sitting, it’s no surprise nor blame on their end for Aamu to have not seen them.
Aamu drifts closer and the young demigod tilts their head at the information given. “Oh, this is Kings End?” They ask, their head tilting this way and that as they look around the meadow again, before peering back up at the Ascended. “It’s okay, really! And yes… I told papa I would document my travel. It keeps him from worrying.” Or so they hope, but they lift their little sketch to show Aamu regardless. It’s still a draft, but the meadow is laid out with the hints of moths dancing in the sky, the pale moon behind the treeline, the grasses that reach up like fingers aiming to brush the starry sky.
"Do you know more about this place?" More than just the name?
Their smile grows wider as Aamu’s stance softens, as the Ascended’s hand runs through his pale moonlit hair. Azrael practically beams. “I was sitting.” They announce as if it hadn’t been obvious, though there’s no malice in their words. Just… Facts. They had been sitting, it’s no surprise nor blame on their end for Aamu to have not seen them.
Aamu drifts closer and the young demigod tilts their head at the information given. “Oh, this is Kings End?” They ask, their head tilting this way and that as they look around the meadow again, before peering back up at the Ascended. “It’s okay, really! And yes… I told papa I would document my travel. It keeps him from worrying.” Or so they hope, but they lift their little sketch to show Aamu regardless. It’s still a draft, but the meadow is laid out with the hints of moths dancing in the sky, the pale moon behind the treeline, the grasses that reach up like fingers aiming to brush the starry sky.
"Do you know more about this place?" More than just the name?
Azrael
