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Nov. 20th, 2015 07:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thewidewideworldSinric hiked for the first day, taking a lesser path away from the road and into the deepest areas of the woods. He moved upwards and away from the lights of the bar.
He had intended to stop at sunset and to set himself a camp but the moon rose early and gave him light enough to go on. Besides, it felt good to walk, to breathe clean cool air. In good boots and with moonlight enough travel on foot was not a hardship. And the exercise helped to put his most troubling thoughts from his mind.
As the moon set, Sinric grew weary and settled himself down to rest, wrapped in the heavy cloak of fur and resting his head on the pack. He had planned to fix himself a meal but he felt no hunger so drank a little from his water skin and slept.
He woke before dawn out of old habit but found his view of the lightening eastern horizon too blocked by trees. Hefting the pack, which seemed heavier than the night before, he made for the higher ground, the better to watch the rising sun.
On a rocky outcrop, his back to a great boulder, Sinric watched the sky turn from grey to pink, to yellow and slowly to blue. Unbidden tears slide down his cheeks, leaving warm tracks over his skin.
The lady’s fury had been righteous but it had been right also. Sinric ached to his heart for what he had unwittingly done to her. But what troubled him worse was the fear that the good doctor had done it knowingly. That she had spoken truth when she said she had forbidden him but he had done so anyway, Sinric found hard to doubt. Perhaps the good doctor had misunderstood, or forgiven; although neither seemed likely.
So surely the blame but lie on Sinric. From that first embrace, Sinric knew Hannibal had desired him, that his usurped form ached with want. Such overt passions from the usually taciturn doctor were heady and flattering, and Sinric never thought twice about fanning that smouldering desire into flame.
And their passion had been a rare thing, an experience for both of them. Not one Sinric would have sought had it not been Hannibal behind that smile, those moans. Sinric’s pride and eagerness to please had driven him to draw out those moans.
And never once had he given thought to the lady whose usurped form he held. Just as a master might give no thought to the pleasure of the slave, or the buyer to the whore.
Had he fallen so far from himself that it was what he had become?
The tears fell thicker and faster as Sinric let his fears and insecurities overtake him.
He curled in on himself, the heavy cloak wrapped around him like a cocoon. He cried himself into a stupor and lay there till the sun rose past the zenith and began to set, barely feeling the biting cold of the coming night settle on him.
He had intended to stop at sunset and to set himself a camp but the moon rose early and gave him light enough to go on. Besides, it felt good to walk, to breathe clean cool air. In good boots and with moonlight enough travel on foot was not a hardship. And the exercise helped to put his most troubling thoughts from his mind.
As the moon set, Sinric grew weary and settled himself down to rest, wrapped in the heavy cloak of fur and resting his head on the pack. He had planned to fix himself a meal but he felt no hunger so drank a little from his water skin and slept.
He woke before dawn out of old habit but found his view of the lightening eastern horizon too blocked by trees. Hefting the pack, which seemed heavier than the night before, he made for the higher ground, the better to watch the rising sun.
On a rocky outcrop, his back to a great boulder, Sinric watched the sky turn from grey to pink, to yellow and slowly to blue. Unbidden tears slide down his cheeks, leaving warm tracks over his skin.
The lady’s fury had been righteous but it had been right also. Sinric ached to his heart for what he had unwittingly done to her. But what troubled him worse was the fear that the good doctor had done it knowingly. That she had spoken truth when she said she had forbidden him but he had done so anyway, Sinric found hard to doubt. Perhaps the good doctor had misunderstood, or forgiven; although neither seemed likely.
So surely the blame but lie on Sinric. From that first embrace, Sinric knew Hannibal had desired him, that his usurped form ached with want. Such overt passions from the usually taciturn doctor were heady and flattering, and Sinric never thought twice about fanning that smouldering desire into flame.
And their passion had been a rare thing, an experience for both of them. Not one Sinric would have sought had it not been Hannibal behind that smile, those moans. Sinric’s pride and eagerness to please had driven him to draw out those moans.
And never once had he given thought to the lady whose usurped form he held. Just as a master might give no thought to the pleasure of the slave, or the buyer to the whore.
Had he fallen so far from himself that it was what he had become?
The tears fell thicker and faster as Sinric let his fears and insecurities overtake him.
He curled in on himself, the heavy cloak wrapped around him like a cocoon. He cried himself into a stupor and lay there till the sun rose past the zenith and began to set, barely feeling the biting cold of the coming night settle on him.
