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Zhol wished he could have followed precisely in Khara's footsteps, but very quickly he discovered the problems with that. For starters, Khara's dainty feet were far smaller than his; rocks that she had balanced on with ease forced him to stand precariously on his toes, or let them wedge uncomfortably into the arch of his foot. Adding to the complication was the length of Khara's strides. Where she had leapt confidently from rock to rock in places, Zhol found himself standing with his foot on the next rock before it had even had the opportunity to leave the previous. There were a few moments where he found himself unpleasantly close to the prospect of tumbling sideways into the river; and others where he wondered just how problematic it would be if he just stepped off the rocks entirely and tried to wade through. It wasn't that deep, and his boots were a good few inches taller than Khara's.
Making matters worse were the thoughts rattling around in his mind as he tried to progress across the water. What Khara had said lingered in his ears. It wasn't that he didn't want to answer, that was the problem. It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. It was the emotions, clawing at the edge of his words; the confessions came as if they were wading through water, each truth dredged up from the corners of his mind launched from his tongue with a disgruntled shrug. He wanted it, and yet didn't. It was a conundrum, a quagmire of confusion, trying to fathom whether his heart, his head, or the back of his mind should be in charge of deciding what was said, and wasn't.
His gaze shifted towards Khara, despite how unwise it probably was to be paying attention to anything other than his unsteady balance. He saw her look back towards him, and he felt it: the tug on his heart, the pull in his chest like reins on a horse, dragging him across whatever distance separated them. Petch the river. Petch the rocks. Petch reluctance. Petch the past. He bounded across the last few in reckless strides, propelling himself up the bank not at a run, but certainly with determined momentum. He didn't slow until he reached her; he knew he shouldn't, but that didn't stop his arm from wrapping around her waist, from pulling her close to him, from bringing his lips to meet hers in a long, deep, passionate kiss that felt as if it was centuries overdue.
A subtle gasp of breath snuck into his lungs; his lips refused to part more than slightly from hers as he spoke. "There are some questions that are hard for me to answer," he admitted, barely more than a whisper, "But please do not stop asking them. I want to tell you. I want you to know. I have no desire to hide anything about myself from you; promise that you will not let me."
Zhol wished he could have followed precisely in Khara's footsteps, but very quickly he discovered the problems with that. For starters, Khara's dainty feet were far smaller than his; rocks that she had balanced on with ease forced him to stand precariously on his toes, or let them wedge uncomfortably into the arch of his foot. Adding to the complication was the length of Khara's strides. Where she had leapt confidently from rock to rock in places, Zhol found himself standing with his foot on the next rock before it had even had the opportunity to leave the previous. There were a few moments where he found himself unpleasantly close to the prospect of tumbling sideways into the river; and others where he wondered just how problematic it would be if he just stepped off the rocks entirely and tried to wade through. It wasn't that deep, and his boots were a good few inches taller than Khara's.
Making matters worse were the thoughts rattling around in his mind as he tried to progress across the water. What Khara had said lingered in his ears. It wasn't that he didn't want to answer, that was the problem. It wasn't that he didn't want her to know. It was the emotions, clawing at the edge of his words; the confessions came as if they were wading through water, each truth dredged up from the corners of his mind launched from his tongue with a disgruntled shrug. He wanted it, and yet didn't. It was a conundrum, a quagmire of confusion, trying to fathom whether his heart, his head, or the back of his mind should be in charge of deciding what was said, and wasn't.
His gaze shifted towards Khara, despite how unwise it probably was to be paying attention to anything other than his unsteady balance. He saw her look back towards him, and he felt it: the tug on his heart, the pull in his chest like reins on a horse, dragging him across whatever distance separated them. Petch the river. Petch the rocks. Petch reluctance. Petch the past. He bounded across the last few in reckless strides, propelling himself up the bank not at a run, but certainly with determined momentum. He didn't slow until he reached her; he knew he shouldn't, but that didn't stop his arm from wrapping around her waist, from pulling her close to him, from bringing his lips to meet hers in a long, deep, passionate kiss that felt as if it was centuries overdue.
A subtle gasp of breath snuck into his lungs; his lips refused to part more than slightly from hers as he spoke. "There are some questions that are hard for me to answer," he admitted, barely more than a whisper, "But please do not stop asking them. I want to tell you. I want you to know. I have no desire to hide anything about myself from you; promise that you will not let me."
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
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This template was made by Khara, the letter Q, and the numbers 87 and 13.