the eons between these visit are torturous, leaving him with a hollow, hunger deep down in his bones. the kind of starvation that cannot be abated by food or booze and still waits for him behind his lids when he manages to sleep, nestled in the silt at the bottom of his family’s reservoir; but all of it is forgotten the moment she allows him to bask in her glory, to drink his fill until she’s made a home in every part of his soul and mind. a reverie that will hang on him for weeks to come, sustained like war rations.
beneath his leather coat, their crude stitches in many different colors, each patch stolen from linen lines when the working men return to their homes for the night, to settle down with their pretty wives and fill their bellies with hot meals, twitches the cadou. it, much like him, recognizes their mother. their paragon sire.
such is his life, that of a scavenger. he eats what winks to the bottom of the manmade lake: birds, fish and men alike. often do foolish men, drunk on fermented grain, pitch over the side of their vessel and too inebriated to swim they sink, sink, sink. to the bottom. and there he and the other things that hide from the daylight, feast in darkness.
“ s-sorry, mother. “ a blubbering whale song as he sniffs and runs the back of a webbed hand along the flat, elongated nostrils that once had been a nose. “ please! i pr-promise i’m calm. s-see. “
he shuffles away, enormous hump swaying like a conjoined twin left to sit bloated and living off its host. a great weight of his faith that he bears for her, only her. he moves through the space quickly, talons digging into the soft, waterlogged wood of a high-backed chair. he lifts it easily, sinewy arms far stronger than they appear, and places it down before her, a poor throne for a divine being, but it is all he has to offer and all he has is what he always offers her.
› ; . ❛ - OH, very well. your pleas have been heard. - ❜
rotting wood festers against her bottom as her darkened figure preens to rest itself upon the low-seated chair, hands coming to lay in her lap while wings curl &&. hide against her hood. the dull scent of low-tide decay &&. algae seep into her own rounded nostrils, that which a ring-clawed hand comes to waft digits under to partly block the backlog of death's stench. while moreau certainly kept his labyrinth close wraps underwater, miranda could do without the foul odors.
pointed gaze sharpens as the cadou carrier waddles back into view, her previously compassionate engagement shut down by a need to review their current situation &&. report she wished to bring to his attention. crows' feathers curl &&. shift along her backside as his mother straightens herself, poised to be the harbinger of importance.
❛ - salvatore my son, the winds carry change for the unforgiving winter. &&. as time has grown resentful of our cause, a new purpose is rising from the depths. - ❜
while beseeching his ravenous loyalty, miranda ensures she makes proper contact to his cheek, palm cusping the enzyme coating creature's skin — warmth embedding beyond cells &&. mucus.
❛ - regardless of suffering, of pain &&. turmoil. . . you WILL do as i ask, yes ? it is for the greatness of our village that i employ you with this heavy task, remember that i saved you from ruin. - ❜
one last touch as her hand retreats, coming to tap a claw upon the fat pungency of his unkempt nose. ❛ - will you obey, my minnow ? - ❜
