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31_days2006-08-08 08:28 pm
mythicbeast.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-08-08 08:28 pm
[aug 8][Tailchaser's Song] By Moonlight
Title: By Moonlight
Day/Theme: August 8: To love is to kiss, to touch hand or arm or to send letters whose spells are stronger than witchcraft. Love is nothing but this.
Series: Tailchaser's Song, by Tad Williams
Character/Pairing: Tailchaser, Hushpad
Warnings: Pre-book, so no real spoilers for anything past the first ten pages. Also, I cannot write cat body language for the life of me.
Rating: G
"Nre'fa-o, Tailchaser."
The voice that calls him is a familiar one, and Tailchaser turns to nuzzle Hushpad in glad greeting. He has begun to spend more time with the fela, as of late, but he cannot shake a peculiar sense of wonderment whenever they meet. He thinks he can smell something new in the air, something that was not there when Meerclar's Eye last shut, and his fur prickles with an anticipation he has no name for.
"Nre'fa-o," Fritti murmurs; even the sleep-light huff of her breath sets his whiskers a-tingle. Hushpad smells musky and dry, overlaid by a curious blend of grass and bowl-food and the touch of M'an. It is not an unpleasant odor, and he breathes in, letting the scents commingle in his mind.
Too late, he realizes that his nose has lingered against her perhaps longer than it should.
Hushpad, of course, has already noticed. Perhaps it's the sudden tension in his muscles that gives it away (he dearly hopes it isn't because she can scent his fear) or something else. Whatever the case may be, the fela breaks their sudden tension by darting forward and planting an affectionate lick on his nose, like a mother placating a squalling kitten.
Before Fritti can do more than jerk in surprise, she's already twisted away, feigning coyness. Her body speaks the truth for her, as it always does. Hushpad's muzzle is delicately crinkled with amusement, no doubt at the thunderstruck look she's gotten out of him, and the easy weaving of her tail promises a game, should he accept it.
Fritti's eyes narrow playfully at her, and he crouches in the grass. Perhaps its time to live up to his face name-- and while he's at it, exact some well-earnt revenge for her teasing.
Tailchaser pounces, and Hushpad laughs in delight as they begin the chase.
Across meadows, across rooftops, across plains of M'an-groung beneath their claws, Fritti chases her. It is difficult to know when the sporting ends and something else rises to the surface, for to Tailchaser's mind, they are largely the same: one is simply practice for the other. What he does know is that the kittenlike play pauses when he finally traps Hushpad against one of the walls the Big Ones are so fond of building, too high to jump without a boost.
Perhaps its when his paw brushes her flank, or when she slithers against him instead of past him. In either case, something in the equilibrium of the moment irreversibly shifts, and neither of them have a choice other than to follow it down.
By unspoken agreement, their movements become slower, more deliberate. He looks into Hushpad's eyes and finds both exhilaration and trepidation there, a mixture fit to match his own sudden urge for-- for something he does not know what to call. They move as if to music, sinous, graceful, and alive.
It's something older than both of them, this pull, more than the desire to be close or to mate or to love. It is the sudden, indescribable sense of wanting to live for another, to share the world through their eyes and have them share it through yours.
The Dance of Acceptance is a thing Tailchaser has only heard of from hearsay, the exchange of heart-names as a promise to never be apart; he cannot seem to recall ever hearing what it actually involves, but he knows surely as lightning strikes that this must be the Dance, for what else could it be? It is pulling his world apart, as they weave tighter and faster and closer to an answer.
It is mystery. It is power. It is a dance as old as time.
Fritti opens his mouth to speak, he knows not what-- his heart-name, he thinks, or perhaps a question.
The clouds shift in a sky-high wind, and suddenly the world is cast in light.
Harar Goldeneye chases the mouse across the sky, a cycle as timeless as that which they have just barely glimpsed. Sunlight strikes their fur as they still in sudden uncertainty; the subtlety of night fades, gradually usurped by the pervasive warmth of the day. The allure and almost certain want in Hushpad's gaze seems to retreat, trapped in the shrinking pupils of luminous eyes.
Hushpad speaks first. "I must go, Tailchaser," she says demurely, voie low with something that may very well be regret. She does not, however, turn away. "The Big Ones will be looking for me, if I do not return soon."
Tailchaser can do nothing but nod, but Hushpad hesitates for a moment, finding words for farewell.
"We must dance again tomorrow," she says suddenly, voice unusually shy, and Fritti is glad-- glad that not all the sweet allure of the unknown has not completely faded in the sunshine. He touches his nose to Hushpad's side fondly, filled with gentle affection for his kittenhood friend.
"Yes," he answers simply, "When Meerclar's Eye is in the sky." And, he thinks silently, when the daylight is not so close to breaking.
Perhaps Hushpad can hear his thoughts, because she nuzzles him sweetly in return, stifling another soft laugh.
"Nre'fa-o, Tailchaser."
"Nre'fa-o."
-- and then of course, after that, Fritti doesn't see Hushpad until the ending, which was mildly disconcerting in that Fritti has grown past his simpler dreams, and satisfying in that, hey, he sees the world through mature eyes now. Heh. I guess in a sense this is like a 'first love' vignette, before Fritti learns of the world beyond his home, and is satisfied with simpler things. He's afraid to chase after Hushpad, later, but his vehemence when he promises to find her or never return at all suggest that he feels something strongly for her, or at least thinks he does.
Day/Theme: August 8: To love is to kiss, to touch hand or arm or to send letters whose spells are stronger than witchcraft. Love is nothing but this.
Series: Tailchaser's Song, by Tad Williams
Character/Pairing: Tailchaser, Hushpad
Warnings: Pre-book, so no real spoilers for anything past the first ten pages. Also, I cannot write cat body language for the life of me.
Rating: G
"Nre'fa-o, Tailchaser."
The voice that calls him is a familiar one, and Tailchaser turns to nuzzle Hushpad in glad greeting. He has begun to spend more time with the fela, as of late, but he cannot shake a peculiar sense of wonderment whenever they meet. He thinks he can smell something new in the air, something that was not there when Meerclar's Eye last shut, and his fur prickles with an anticipation he has no name for.
"Nre'fa-o," Fritti murmurs; even the sleep-light huff of her breath sets his whiskers a-tingle. Hushpad smells musky and dry, overlaid by a curious blend of grass and bowl-food and the touch of M'an. It is not an unpleasant odor, and he breathes in, letting the scents commingle in his mind.
Too late, he realizes that his nose has lingered against her perhaps longer than it should.
Hushpad, of course, has already noticed. Perhaps it's the sudden tension in his muscles that gives it away (he dearly hopes it isn't because she can scent his fear) or something else. Whatever the case may be, the fela breaks their sudden tension by darting forward and planting an affectionate lick on his nose, like a mother placating a squalling kitten.
Before Fritti can do more than jerk in surprise, she's already twisted away, feigning coyness. Her body speaks the truth for her, as it always does. Hushpad's muzzle is delicately crinkled with amusement, no doubt at the thunderstruck look she's gotten out of him, and the easy weaving of her tail promises a game, should he accept it.
Fritti's eyes narrow playfully at her, and he crouches in the grass. Perhaps its time to live up to his face name-- and while he's at it, exact some well-earnt revenge for her teasing.
Tailchaser pounces, and Hushpad laughs in delight as they begin the chase.
Across meadows, across rooftops, across plains of M'an-groung beneath their claws, Fritti chases her. It is difficult to know when the sporting ends and something else rises to the surface, for to Tailchaser's mind, they are largely the same: one is simply practice for the other. What he does know is that the kittenlike play pauses when he finally traps Hushpad against one of the walls the Big Ones are so fond of building, too high to jump without a boost.
Perhaps its when his paw brushes her flank, or when she slithers against him instead of past him. In either case, something in the equilibrium of the moment irreversibly shifts, and neither of them have a choice other than to follow it down.
By unspoken agreement, their movements become slower, more deliberate. He looks into Hushpad's eyes and finds both exhilaration and trepidation there, a mixture fit to match his own sudden urge for-- for something he does not know what to call. They move as if to music, sinous, graceful, and alive.
It's something older than both of them, this pull, more than the desire to be close or to mate or to love. It is the sudden, indescribable sense of wanting to live for another, to share the world through their eyes and have them share it through yours.
The Dance of Acceptance is a thing Tailchaser has only heard of from hearsay, the exchange of heart-names as a promise to never be apart; he cannot seem to recall ever hearing what it actually involves, but he knows surely as lightning strikes that this must be the Dance, for what else could it be? It is pulling his world apart, as they weave tighter and faster and closer to an answer.
It is mystery. It is power. It is a dance as old as time.
Fritti opens his mouth to speak, he knows not what-- his heart-name, he thinks, or perhaps a question.
The clouds shift in a sky-high wind, and suddenly the world is cast in light.
Harar Goldeneye chases the mouse across the sky, a cycle as timeless as that which they have just barely glimpsed. Sunlight strikes their fur as they still in sudden uncertainty; the subtlety of night fades, gradually usurped by the pervasive warmth of the day. The allure and almost certain want in Hushpad's gaze seems to retreat, trapped in the shrinking pupils of luminous eyes.
Hushpad speaks first. "I must go, Tailchaser," she says demurely, voie low with something that may very well be regret. She does not, however, turn away. "The Big Ones will be looking for me, if I do not return soon."
Tailchaser can do nothing but nod, but Hushpad hesitates for a moment, finding words for farewell.
"We must dance again tomorrow," she says suddenly, voice unusually shy, and Fritti is glad-- glad that not all the sweet allure of the unknown has not completely faded in the sunshine. He touches his nose to Hushpad's side fondly, filled with gentle affection for his kittenhood friend.
"Yes," he answers simply, "When Meerclar's Eye is in the sky." And, he thinks silently, when the daylight is not so close to breaking.
Perhaps Hushpad can hear his thoughts, because she nuzzles him sweetly in return, stifling another soft laugh.
"Nre'fa-o, Tailchaser."
"Nre'fa-o."
-- and then of course, after that, Fritti doesn't see Hushpad until the ending, which was mildly disconcerting in that Fritti has grown past his simpler dreams, and satisfying in that, hey, he sees the world through mature eyes now. Heh. I guess in a sense this is like a 'first love' vignette, before Fritti learns of the world beyond his home, and is satisfied with simpler things. He's afraid to chase after Hushpad, later, but his vehemence when he promises to find her or never return at all suggest that he feels something strongly for her, or at least thinks he does.