The Bench Grew Cold

Raheerah was unsure of any way to describe the tranquility she offered him then. Whatever anger and rage burned in his heart, whatever hatred it was that fueled him, temporarily fell away in favor of the warmth of her company. It was not as though the feelings didn't exist; they did, and they would continue to until he died. But he forgot them, he pushed them aside for now because they had become entirely moot. Those feelings did not entwine themselves with any sort of relevance in regarding her. They were peeled away, like bark stripped from a tree, to reveal something fresh and new and unfamiliar. Beneath all the hardness of the dragon there laid an innocence of his own. He couldn't even call it satisfaction, for he had done nothing to warrant it; or elation, for he was incapable. It was contentedness.

As she moved in to caress his shoulder and throat, Raheerah bent his neck to ensure his jaws remained firmly buried in her scruff. Her words could only make him huff quietly, for he didn't know what else to say. All of his feelings had already been summed up and presented for her; she need only know that she gave him peace, too, and that was more than anybody had ever offered the monster. When she rose, he wanted gesture for her to return to her position so that he could continue to revel in the texture of her fur, but the beast relented. She instead moved to join him within the den again, which had been his desire in the first place.

Once she had settled, Raheerah raised his head and allowed her to become comfortable in pressing her jaw into his neck. He then settled his chin aside her head, his nose just past the loam of her ear. For a brief few seconds, he closed his eye, but the turmoil of emotions that rolled over themselves inside of him had since stripped him of his ability to sleep. His eyelid instead hovered, revealing a sliver of the scarlet gaze that would attach itself to his light.