Young!Aenoch Snippet

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Young Aenoch; Age 11; 8 years before the start of the Campaign.

     ❦ | The steady drumming of rain against the windows filled the archives with a rhythmic melody, punctuated every now and then by a flash of light followed by the powerful grumble of thunder, as if the gods themselves were making their discontent with Primidia known. Blissfully unburdened by worries of what a mere storm could mean, a young Chromian boy was sat at one of the desks, tucked away between shelves lined with books that were well above what a child his age would usually be able to read, written by scholars and academics who tirelessly studied the biology of various creatures.
     And, yet, here he sat, contentedly flicking through the pages of a tome too heavy for his skinny arms to carry, tail flicking back and forth happily, his legs kicking in a similar motion.

      Aenoch spent a large portion of his time seated at this exact table, occupied by a different book each day, often needing to carry them back to his room as the sky darkened outside- although, a lot of the time, he ended up falling asleep at the desk.
     Today, his attention was taken up by a book about dragons; a recent obsession of his that he'd been researching for the past few weeks whenever he had time between Ander's–
     He quickly shook the thought away, focusing his attention back to the book– back to what made him happy– nervously pulling down his sleeves over his wrists in fear that the newest bruises would be seen... not that there was anyone around to see them. Recently, Ander had begun to grow more ambitious in his methods, keeping Aenoch around for longer periods of time as a punching bag. Naively, the young Werten assumed- even hoped- that this was the worst the first-in-line would ever get.
      It's- just a phase he's going through, He assured himself, Once he's moved on, things will return to normal. I can make it through a little longer. Aenoch turned the page, revealing a beautiful illustration of a swamp dragon that sprawled between the writing, causing his tail to wag slightly in fascination.

     But, gods, he missed his dad. 

     Brushing off his sadness, determinedly convincing himself his worries would be over in a few moons, he allowed himself to sink into the comfort of learning new information about his current obsession to recite to his father once they were able to speak again without fear of consequence, the tapping of raindrops calming his nerves.

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