Nova Peak ❇ Sóóts'ii

vhagar watches her reaction to his words — genuine in nature — the low bow of her head and shy but brief meet of their gazes slowly scratches something dormant to life within him. it creates a small strange flame of something in his chest that he cannot name. it feels powerful and dangerous and almost ugly, and he recognizes flashes of it prior. the ichor of the gods in his blood thrumming to life, awakening and nesting in his chest. like lighting a match and letting the flame lick down the wooden stick until it was in danger of burning fingers.

it is easy to think he wished to embrace his pharaoh bloodline, to call himself pharaoh of war in the guise of the name vhagar. it is another thing entirely to unlock it.

her words, you are — trailing off echo in his head, drawing him back to the exchange. back to her.

you are, you are, you are —

i am what?

he wants to know, wants her to finish her sentence. the dissatisfaction of not knowing prowls like a caged animal in his chest. but vhagar does not push nor pry.

do you enjoy making furs? is this your talent? vhagar inquires, gesturing to the fur with a paw. he does not give her an answer either way, not wanting to sway her choice. if she decided to make him more, he would accept them; if she did not, he would cherish the one she has already gifted him.