"one second," a twist here, a tug there! you step back to admire him, and the raven feather now tied onto his horn, "ravengard. get it? of course you do. better yet, we match. your right's my left." you thumb the ink below your black eye. "wherever we go," amidst the madness their lives have become or after the tide of it recedes, "we'll remember each other." / @redemnation
a laugh, tucked away with little success, a breathy sound from the chest. " clever as you always are, " he tells you, and he means it. wyll lifts his hand and feels, fleetingly, gingerly, the feather you have tied so graciously around his horn, and though to the rest of the world it may be viewed as just another accessory that dons keratin curves, there is a hearty weight to the gift that has been given. a symbol of friendship, hopefully ever-lasting - could wyll give you something even half as meaningful, he would do so in a heartbeat. perhaps it is nothing more than the stuff of dramatic poets. nevertheless, his chest strains to not collapse under the weight of itself. could he only give you something half as meaningful.
his smile when he properly looks upon you is nothing short of fond, affection hard to misplace in the presence of you (even where there stands fear and concern, though he dares not acknowledge that dark corner in a moment so sweet as this). wyll's voice is equally so, soaked through to the very marrow with endearment as he says to you, " said as though it would be my wont to forget you without a token to remember you by. " something he could not do: forget you, lose track of the memories that hold you close, lose sight of the care that has been shown. to forget you, he thinks, he would be forgetting a piece of himself - and besides which, how does one mislay their beating heart to begin with?
and then, wyll's voice drops, grows hushed, painfully sincere. his conviction when he speaks to you now is nothing you are unused to, and it is the same drawl of honest dedication (underlain with the fine jewels and shed-blood of devotion) which he has addressed you with before - yet there is something else there. not quite grief, but something of the sort. something far-away, forlorn. " never could i - and never will i - forget you. may my thoughts of you be fond and frequent, and may we not have to say goodbye for a long, long time. "
