The scales are thinner there, the feathers sparser; either they weren't finished growing in yet or were for some strange reason weaker. Every dragon had a spot that needed to be protected, but there was no great drive beyond practicality to protect it, and Lahabrea had no reason to think Elidibus might suddenly drive a spike through the side of his throat.
No, the point of this was to allow touch and see what happened, and there was no-one else to see and mock or deride. So it's allowed without protest, and no comment made about it. It feels nice; maybe it was why a dog or a horse or a bandersnatch might lean into a questing hand at their throats, eyes closed in trusting bliss. The mapping of such a feeling to mere animals is ... not comfortable, not something he wants to weigh long.
There are other distractions, than a pleasant touch along skin and feather and scale. "No. There is."
But it's hard to formulate. There's room for joy, for fear, for hope and loss.
Was he even capable of connecting to something other than burning fury, with the dragon so close to the surface, even with the calming presence of a bond and the soothing touch of foreign magic? Instead of answering whether or not Elidibus would be better off resisting or doing nothing, he struggles with the line of thought instead. How? If he couldn't describe it, could he ever do it?
"There's more than stoicism. There's laughter. There's silliness." It's not quite a massage, for that would preclude the sharp tips of claws, but he draws them nonetheless across across Elidibus' scalp in slow spirals as he works on beating the beast down enough to think. "To remember it and live it and breathe it is .. to remember once was something better, something nobler than the misery of the moment. To honor a god shaped by love and hope and the high wild joys of life, and show we have not forgotten ... not in memory of this incident or that time, but in our souls, what it means to shepherd a world. Not just.. the weight of responsibility alone. We are vast, we are great, and we can contain more than just the pain of loss or determination to see a task through." It takes him a while to put it together, bit by bit, with the undercurrent of fury that never ended.
He could remember times where there was happiness. Flashes of better things, more vivid things than the day to day struggle. He could remember the flush of pride and joy in success and not only grim satisfaction. Dredging them up now is hard. It's slow. It's all slow, with gaps and pauses and awkward tones and ire when he can't shape what he wants out of words even with the ongoing efforts to soothe away the lunar rage. "If there is no laughter, then our God's touch is somewhere else. If there is no joy or peace, even in fleeing moments then there is no hope. We become merely the tattered remnants of melancholy people basking in our inability to be people. If we cannot celebrate, how can we truly worship?"
Lahabrea closes his eyes, though whether from the touch against his skin or to measure thoughts or continue to work to lock the scent and sound of Elidibus in his mind so there must not in the future be risk to him from the beast ... it's a mystery. All of them. None of them. "Our God would not be shamed to see us wrench a moment of silliness out of our dark duty, or feel a spark of fear. What is fear but a motivating force? We can't let it control us, of course, but to feel it .. to feel any of it... is a gift."
He found his own joy and happiness, though sometimes it was merely in watching mortals struggle and fail and die, over and over. But still... it's a happiness. "Through our elation, and our misery, we show Lord Zodiark we have not forgotten what it means to live, and that one day soon He too .. will be free to experience more than our vicarious pain." The little circles of clawtips continue, slow and measured. "Stoicism is easier. But it is better to share what we can with Him, isn't it? It's why I won't break such a silly thing as Emet-Selch's bond with that rabbit. A little joy, however fleeting it must be..."
no subject
No, the point of this was to allow touch and see what happened, and there was no-one else to see and mock or deride. So it's allowed without protest, and no comment made about it. It feels nice; maybe it was why a dog or a horse or a bandersnatch might lean into a questing hand at their throats, eyes closed in trusting bliss. The mapping of such a feeling to mere animals is ... not comfortable, not something he wants to weigh long.
There are other distractions, than a pleasant touch along skin and feather and scale. "No. There is."
But it's hard to formulate. There's room for joy, for fear, for hope and loss.
Was he even capable of connecting to something other than burning fury, with the dragon so close to the surface, even with the calming presence of a bond and the soothing touch of foreign magic? Instead of answering whether or not Elidibus would be better off resisting or doing nothing, he struggles with the line of thought instead. How? If he couldn't describe it, could he ever do it?
"There's more than stoicism. There's laughter. There's silliness." It's not quite a massage, for that would preclude the sharp tips of claws, but he draws them nonetheless across across Elidibus' scalp in slow spirals as he works on beating the beast down enough to think. "To remember it and live it and breathe it is .. to remember once was something better, something nobler than the misery of the moment. To honor a god shaped by love and hope and the high wild joys of life, and show we have not forgotten ... not in memory of this incident or that time, but in our souls, what it means to shepherd a world. Not just.. the weight of responsibility alone. We are vast, we are great, and we can contain more than just the pain of loss or determination to see a task through." It takes him a while to put it together, bit by bit, with the undercurrent of fury that never ended.
He could remember times where there was happiness. Flashes of better things, more vivid things than the day to day struggle. He could remember the flush of pride and joy in success and not only grim satisfaction. Dredging them up now is hard. It's slow. It's all slow, with gaps and pauses and awkward tones and ire when he can't shape what he wants out of words even with the ongoing efforts to soothe away the lunar rage. "If there is no laughter, then our God's touch is somewhere else. If there is no joy or peace, even in fleeing moments then there is no hope. We become merely the tattered remnants of melancholy people basking in our inability to be people. If we cannot celebrate, how can we truly worship?"
Lahabrea closes his eyes, though whether from the touch against his skin or to measure thoughts or continue to work to lock the scent and sound of Elidibus in his mind so there must not in the future be risk to him from the beast ... it's a mystery. All of them. None of them. "Our God would not be shamed to see us wrench a moment of silliness out of our dark duty, or feel a spark of fear. What is fear but a motivating force? We can't let it control us, of course, but to feel it .. to feel any of it... is a gift."
He found his own joy and happiness, though sometimes it was merely in watching mortals struggle and fail and die, over and over. But still... it's a happiness. "Through our elation, and our misery, we show Lord Zodiark we have not forgotten what it means to live, and that one day soon He too .. will be free to experience more than our vicarious pain." The little circles of clawtips continue, slow and measured. "Stoicism is easier. But it is better to share what we can with Him, isn't it? It's why I won't break such a silly thing as Emet-Selch's bond with that rabbit. A little joy, however fleeting it must be..."