by Verdana » Wed Jan 29, 2014 2:11:57 pm
Just a note on this story:
This is a love story between Tora’s Blackcurrant Solitaire, and my Khan. I have not used names in this story, because it is from Khan’s perspective, and he wouldn’t use the names humans give. The story was inspired by a photograph Kiley sent me when she first picked up Khan, of Currant and Khan snuggling together (tongues wagging, as if having a great fat chat) with Mord’s henna mini wyrm.
Of Plumes and Promises
The first thing I noticed about you was your purple plume.
I had just left home. Back in my squirm of placid, pastel-plated qui-lin, I had been the firebrand. I had been the rebel. But huddled in a travel crate, surrounded by meeps and peeps from a hundred foreign mouths, I felt terribly small, and terribly alone. I kept to myself throughout transit. I scarcely remember arriving at a place I know only as Wyrmhub. It is a place of exchange and of adventure, where the most daring of us go to seek our fortunes. Of course, one needs a handler to do that. But by the time I arrived, I was so shaken that I could barely take any interest. Perhaps I worried about being forgotten beneath the clamour. I cannot say. The first thing I remember - truly remember - was travelling to a new home in a comfortable box.
That, and your purple plume.
Do you remember sharing a crate with me? Did you know you had a companion in there at all? Upon reflection, I think not. I huddled at the back, cowed and subdued, while you pressed your snout through the bars to gulp down the new and exciting things around you. I watched you from a distance, transfixed by the bob-bob-bob of your plume. It seemed as if all of your energy, your spunk and your light, was captured in the twitches of that feather. I considered calling out to you. I thought about it. But in the end I held my tongue.
Oh, if ever I was a fool, it was for holding my tongue too long.
I wish I could say that I was spurred into action by curiosity, or a desire to know you better. I felt both of these things keenly. But, in truth, it was loneliness that brought me squiggling warily towards you, as you spoke - quite unabashed - with a mini wyrm at least twice your size. You turned to me, bright and alive with friendly curiosity, and then you said:
“Oh, so you’re the other outsider?” and with a flick of that enchanting plume, you invited me into your conversation.
I knew then, both that I desperately wanted to know you better, and that I possibly had limited time to do so.
I spent the next day getting to know you. You are Fast-Talker, Risk-Taker, Bravery and Glee. You are Passion, you are Persistence, you are Hot-Head. You are Purple Fire. Did you laugh to see me so smitten, so fast? I must have looked a lovelorn youth. You knew my feelings even then. You called me Admirer. Perhaps you were joking.
Oh, but you are so very easy to admire.
So easy to love.
I brought you your first gift at dawn the next morning. It was two feathers, bright white, dropped by two partnered birds in flight. You had not yet woken, and so I was able to watch you as you saw them for the first time, and pondered their meaning. You could not see me, but I could see you, Dear Heart. I am ashamed to admit that I hid behind the potted plant all the while, anxiously quaking. I am not, as you well know, a brave wyrm by nature. I wish I had been before you when you received my gift. But, I was not, and while you looked rather charmed by the soft bird-blades, you made no attempt to include them in your hoard.
I had to try harder.
Had time permitted, I would have spliced together a flower for you, my love. I dreamed about a pearly white, purple-throated bloom with a most bewitching scent. It would be your flower. I would name it Allure. Ah, but that, I fear, is doomed to remain a dream. The Not-Handler came home with three travelling crates that day, and I was spurred into action. Since I could not grow you a flower to show my dedication, I would have to find one instead. I snuck out through the window, and spent hours searching the Not-Handler’s small and woefully understocked garden. I disregarded the bright yellow daisies with their plastic smell, and the snobbish roses with their scornful gazes. I needed a flower for you, which could capture your energy and verve.
It also had to be purple.
I knew what I wanted when I found it. On a small shrub, dotted with timid lilac blooms, I found an anomaly. One stem had grown differently from the rest. It split in half, and from it, two perfect amethysts of flowers grew. Two separate entities were one at the core.
It was perfect.
This gift, I was sure, would win your heart.
So confident was I in my success, that I presented my flowers to you directly. I had wrapped the stem in a bead of water to keep it bright. The blossoms gleamed like gems. My gift sat between us. We were both still; I was breathless, while you were thoughtful. You considered the blooms, and then you turned that scrutiny onto me. Was that the first you knew of my intentions? I can’t imagine so. You are so insightful, dear one. Perhaps it was the first time you considered my feelings as more than a game. I knew from the start that I was serious, but did you? You looked and you thought, and maybe something changed in your expression. Maybe not.
But then…
Well, nothing happened.
I couldn’t understand! I had done everything right! Everything my elders had ever taught me, I had applied. I know better now, of course. I thought out the perfect gift for a Zhong Lung, but I did not consider the perfect gift for you, my purple flame. No wonder you left it where it stood. I look back with wisdom, but at the time I was gutted. I sulked off - not a spring to be seen in my squiggle - firmly believing that I could not show my face to you again, for shame.
Though I could not bear to be in your company, I watched you from afar. At some time during the long day that followed, I noticed you looking at something.
You were looking at it with the same tenderness and desire I felt whenever I saw you.
My first reaction was jealousy, for I thought you had your sights set on another. I floofed to my maximum size, eyes blazing, ready to challenge any other wyrm or creature, in order to win your heart.
But you weren’t watching a wyrm, were you, my dear? You were watching the Non-Handler.
I was bewildered. A human? You loved a human? They are such awkward, smelly, galumphing big things. I did not understand, at first. I knew that I was wrong.
And I was.
You weren’t watching the human either.
You were watching what it was eating.
I did not know what it was, and I did not care. It was what you desired most, and so it was what I would get you. You know better than anyone that I am not a brave wyrm. So what I did was not something I ever expected to do. I squiggled furiously towards the table,
- I am not brave, I thought -
calculated,
- I am not brave -
inched along a leg,
- not brave -
waited until the human’s attention was diverted,
- I am a coward and a fool -
then stormed the bowl,
- but I must be brave -
grabbed a piece of hard candy,
- I will be brave -
and leapt off of the tabletop with my prize
- for her -
for you.
Anything for you.
I presented you with my prize, my fur in disarray but my heart bursting. The candy was too sweet, and it stuck my teeth together. I did not like it.
You did, though.
You fell upon it with the most delighted chittering I have ever heard. You licked and you bit and you dragged yourself all over it. By the time you had finished it, your soft white fur was a sticky mess. I couldn’t bear to see it all clumped together, and buoyed up as I was by my success, impulsive and impassioned, I began to lick it off.
When did my simple, cleaning licks turn into gentle preening? Perhaps I will never know. It certainly doesn’t matter any more. What matters to me - and what will remain in my mind forever - was the soft feeling of a tongue on the top of my head, as you began to preen me too.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.
We exposed our hearts to one another. I learned of your family, your origins, your hopes and dreams, your loves and hatreds. You, in turn, learned of mine. We were not out of each other’s company for a moment. We clung to each breath the other took, and stored memories like precious hoards, for our timing was bittersweet. We were soon leaving on a new adventure.
No.
Two crates. Two adventures.
Wherever we were going, we would not be going together.
The last night was one of the most joyful heartbreak. We clung to each other, preening and whispering words of encouragement. I was daunted. You, my dear, behind your anguish, you were excited. I took strength from your courage, though my heart still quailed. Right up until the last moment, I hoped that the Non-Handler would somehow change its mind, while knowing that it was an impossible thing to wish for.
That night, Holder of my Heart, do you remember what I said to you? I made you a promise. I promised you that, while friends may come and friends may go, I will always hold you first in my mind and my soul. No matter how far away we are, and how distant and forgotten we may feel, I will love you most, think of you always. I meant every word of it.
I intend to keep that promise until I die.
The Non-Handler had to drag us apart to place us in our crates. Despite what I had said the night before, despite the resolve I had felt to leave you, I could not let you go. I remember merping great, sobbing alarm calls, begging the other wyrms to come to my aid. The Non-Handler’s squirm watched me, but did nothing. They were always separate from us, my Amethyst. It was always you and me, against the world.
No matter where we are, it always will be.
All the way to my new home, I clung to a hope that perhaps our destination was the same, after all. We had been misinformed, and when I arrived, you would be waiting for me. During the journey, I found the small hoard of pretty, thoughtful things you had slipped into my crate. Did you find the gifts I left for you? I covet those presents, and keep them with me still.
But no pretty item could spare me the despair I felt when I left my crate at my new home, and you were not there. Something in me faded that day.
It will not reignite until I have you before me again.
I have not seen you again, but I think of you always, just as I swore I would. I cannot make a decision without imagining your face. I cannot move without picturing you beside me. The pain of our parting has faded to a dull ache. I suspect it will not ever truly go away. It is not enough just to think of you. If I had hands, I would write to you. If I had a voice that could travel the world, I would sing you to sleep every night. I have neither, and so you are nothing but a wraith-like presence in the back of my head; insubstantial, but no less vital for it.
I am not unhappy in my new home. I have friends here. My squirm is kind. Perhaps the best part of being in my new home is my Handler. She is a female human, and she travels frequently. I have come to love travelling. I am always the first in my crate, and the first out of it. The squirm thinks I have an adventurous nature, but that isn’t it. That isn’t it at all.
If you were here, Spirited Heart, you would know exactly what my motivation is. You know, after all, that I am not by nature a very brave wyrm.
Every time I come upon a new place, I am looking for your purple plume.
