her question is answered with a flash of teeth and for a moment zharille regrets her words. she thinks she sees a little of herself there, finally; not some shade of khaba wrapped in desert finery, not some woman connected to a world she herself will never understand—racharra, wild and mighty.
zharille snarls, she cannot help it. the display is a push too far and she brandishes her own teeth against her daughter the same way as she had against the man who made her. bristling, squaring-up as if she might actually attack.
it wasn't meant to be forever.
zharille snarls, she cannot help it. the display is a push too far and she brandishes her own teeth against her daughter the same way as she had against the man who made her. bristling, squaring-up as if she might actually attack.
no. put you there to be safe, not—not all days!she did not run from her daughter then, she would not now. this was dangerous territory for the both of them: for zharille who might lose touch with the last of her old family, and for racharra who might leave this place tarnished and bloody.
it wasn't meant to be forever.
you smell like desert, speak like little man! not fight for home, like zharille. not build, like zharille. not choose, like zharille. what has racharra done—? hm?
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RE: crawl - by Zharille - March 13, 2024, 01:03 AM