Meeristali Peradun
Cat Dad
- [member="Marakai Al'Orren"] -
Lunch. Room. Right. His room, later. What?
There was little point in dwelling on it too much. It was what it was, and his attention slid from watching her go to she that had gone. It most certainly wasn't his imagination. He knew the scent and feel of her, would know it no matter the breadth of time set between them, for she (now that he had thought on it) had been his first student, in the ways of being and living. He reached the edge of the jungle at the point where she had returned to it, and crouched, there finding a blossom and so sniffed at it, the trace of her touch becoming immediately apparent on its soft, delicate surfaces.
Orange irises lifted, peering into the jungle that he, like she, knew largely like the back of his hand. Questions filed through his psyche, ones he wanted to ask, for which there was no telling the nature of her answer; again his mind, and now the tips of fingers, went to the right line of his jaw for the referential memory of times such as these. She may have hit him, he may have let her, but it was the price of admission to the matters of her pain.
Family, right?
The blossom fluttered, resting with the detritus, and he too slipped into the jungle, into his other form of self, following the trail she had left behind in her want of discovery, or in the futility of hiding from him, his pace slow, in consideration. It was the same old performance, the players moving through their denoted actions and lines. Before long, he came upon the lake, once again assuming his pseudo-humanity, the guise of his basest self less conducive to not provoking, and rose to his full height, tail calm, subdued, expression concerned-yet-firm as he watched her on her perch, saying nothing. Nothing, for minutes. A silence punctuated by the formed nature of this place. A quiet that needed breaking.
"Marrrakai."
For the script demands it.