Post by Shomoro on Jun 9, 2008 22:03:38 GMT -5
Short and not so sweet.
Involved:
Sammar, Guard of Kivuli
Amahl, Tyne Prince
Kivuli - West Mountain
When Amahl had awakened, Sammar had led him, quietly, back towards the mountain, and since then he's been staying close to the off-white lion, solicitous-- a little bit the way he acts around Ndalia, although without that jealousy. Certainly keeping an eye on the adolescent gives him something to do that's not bitching about the queen, and he doesn't really mind-- let her come back when she wants; -he's- busy.
He hadn't wanted to move--the only thing he'd wanted to do after waking up was curl himself into a ball again and feel miserable. But Sammar had been /quite/ insistent that they relocate somewhere else, and so the mourning prince had trudged reluctantly after him, keeping quiet as they passed into the heart of Kivuli. Now, given the opportunity to stop moving, Amahl has collapsed onto his side underneath a large, leafy bush, and is doing his best to forget that the rest of the world exists. He still hasn't said anything since the older lion roused him, which, for such a talkative boy, is really rather worrying.
It -is- worrying, and Sammar doesn't like it one bit. He's settled himself next to Amahl, very close, and now he eases closer still, craning his neck to try to get his tongue on Amahl's face. "Your mother wouldn't want to see you like this," he says-- just another of the usual platitudes for the mourning, and he's smart enough to realize that of course it won't do much good, but of course he says it anyway-- what else -can- he say?
Amahl doesn't pull away--but he doesn't give much of a response at all, really. His ears flatten for a minute, and he lets out a little sigh, but his tightly shut eyes don't open. But, after awhile, he finally does speak. "...Then it's a good thing she can't see anything now, isn't it?" He's not crying anymore; now he just feels numb. He hasn't quite accepted it, still, but nor is he continuing to fight it--that could either be a good sign or a very bad one.
"Of course she is." He sounds puzzled-- he's oneo f those who really -does- believe in the ancestors, and Amahl's resistance to the idea is curious to him. "Of -course- she is. That's what they do-- and she's probably upset by how you're acting." He's not scolding, or not -meaning- to be, and llicking again as he speaks.
"/Stop/." Oh, he might not be crying now but his voice is still thick with upset. "Don't /say/ that. This is hard enough already." He'd jerked away a little, at that, but after a few minutes Amahl slowly sinks back to the position he'd held before, his flank touching the older cat's.
"Well she -is- watching yuo; she's not -gone-, you just can't see her anymore." Sammar shifts position then, his head by Amahl's flanks, licking along his back and side-- wanting to -soothe-.
To which Amahl can only respond one way: he groans, shoving his face underneath his own paws, as if that will hide how very displeased and unhappy he is. "/Stop/," he repeats, but it's a feeble protest. "You weren't /there/, you didn't /see/ it. She's /gone/." For all that he obviously wants to be comforted, he doesn't seem to find promises of an afterlife very reassuring. Then again, he's always been the sort of boy who needs everything proved to him; if he can't feel it or see it, generally, it simply doesn't exist for him. It's a surprisingly pessimistic outlook for someone who always seems to believe the best in his peers--but he's also hurting, a lot, and maybe the thought of his mother existing in a state of half-life, able to see him but not /interact/ with him, just hurts him even more. It doesn't seem very fair, after all.
Sammar doesn't say anything to that, only tenses for a moment or two-- and then relaxes again, makes himself start to purr, rough at first, like a spluttery engine, but growing smoother as he calms, the slow movement of his tongue and head as he grooms soothing himself at least as much as it soothes Amahl-- and probably more. He eases in a little closer, stretching out onto his side, longer than Amahl, grunting as he resettles himself.
Of course, that silence makes him feel, childishly, even more upset--he doesn't want Sammar to try and talk him into believing that Waset is still hanging around as a mute, invisible spirit, but he wants the other male to say /something/. He wants Sammar to make it all better somehow. But nothing that the guard can do will make things better, will it, unless he can bring her back to life. It's with this thought that Amahl shoves his head up under the older lion's chin again and falls silent, still trying to reassure himself by clinging to somebody.
Involved:
Sammar, Guard of Kivuli
Amahl, Tyne Prince
Kivuli - West Mountain
When Amahl had awakened, Sammar had led him, quietly, back towards the mountain, and since then he's been staying close to the off-white lion, solicitous-- a little bit the way he acts around Ndalia, although without that jealousy. Certainly keeping an eye on the adolescent gives him something to do that's not bitching about the queen, and he doesn't really mind-- let her come back when she wants; -he's- busy.
He hadn't wanted to move--the only thing he'd wanted to do after waking up was curl himself into a ball again and feel miserable. But Sammar had been /quite/ insistent that they relocate somewhere else, and so the mourning prince had trudged reluctantly after him, keeping quiet as they passed into the heart of Kivuli. Now, given the opportunity to stop moving, Amahl has collapsed onto his side underneath a large, leafy bush, and is doing his best to forget that the rest of the world exists. He still hasn't said anything since the older lion roused him, which, for such a talkative boy, is really rather worrying.
It -is- worrying, and Sammar doesn't like it one bit. He's settled himself next to Amahl, very close, and now he eases closer still, craning his neck to try to get his tongue on Amahl's face. "Your mother wouldn't want to see you like this," he says-- just another of the usual platitudes for the mourning, and he's smart enough to realize that of course it won't do much good, but of course he says it anyway-- what else -can- he say?
Amahl doesn't pull away--but he doesn't give much of a response at all, really. His ears flatten for a minute, and he lets out a little sigh, but his tightly shut eyes don't open. But, after awhile, he finally does speak. "...Then it's a good thing she can't see anything now, isn't it?" He's not crying anymore; now he just feels numb. He hasn't quite accepted it, still, but nor is he continuing to fight it--that could either be a good sign or a very bad one.
"Of course she is." He sounds puzzled-- he's oneo f those who really -does- believe in the ancestors, and Amahl's resistance to the idea is curious to him. "Of -course- she is. That's what they do-- and she's probably upset by how you're acting." He's not scolding, or not -meaning- to be, and llicking again as he speaks.
"/Stop/." Oh, he might not be crying now but his voice is still thick with upset. "Don't /say/ that. This is hard enough already." He'd jerked away a little, at that, but after a few minutes Amahl slowly sinks back to the position he'd held before, his flank touching the older cat's.
"Well she -is- watching yuo; she's not -gone-, you just can't see her anymore." Sammar shifts position then, his head by Amahl's flanks, licking along his back and side-- wanting to -soothe-.
To which Amahl can only respond one way: he groans, shoving his face underneath his own paws, as if that will hide how very displeased and unhappy he is. "/Stop/," he repeats, but it's a feeble protest. "You weren't /there/, you didn't /see/ it. She's /gone/." For all that he obviously wants to be comforted, he doesn't seem to find promises of an afterlife very reassuring. Then again, he's always been the sort of boy who needs everything proved to him; if he can't feel it or see it, generally, it simply doesn't exist for him. It's a surprisingly pessimistic outlook for someone who always seems to believe the best in his peers--but he's also hurting, a lot, and maybe the thought of his mother existing in a state of half-life, able to see him but not /interact/ with him, just hurts him even more. It doesn't seem very fair, after all.
Sammar doesn't say anything to that, only tenses for a moment or two-- and then relaxes again, makes himself start to purr, rough at first, like a spluttery engine, but growing smoother as he calms, the slow movement of his tongue and head as he grooms soothing himself at least as much as it soothes Amahl-- and probably more. He eases in a little closer, stretching out onto his side, longer than Amahl, grunting as he resettles himself.
Of course, that silence makes him feel, childishly, even more upset--he doesn't want Sammar to try and talk him into believing that Waset is still hanging around as a mute, invisible spirit, but he wants the other male to say /something/. He wants Sammar to make it all better somehow. But nothing that the guard can do will make things better, will it, unless he can bring her back to life. It's with this thought that Amahl shoves his head up under the older lion's chin again and falls silent, still trying to reassure himself by clinging to somebody.