!! r u still accepting these!!!
send โ!!โ and Iโll write a para description of your muse from mineโs perspective
Kodran reminds her too much of her father.ย
Heโs proper Avvar, she reminds herself when it gets too hard to look at him. Ulrich, in all his furs and body paints, never truly was a chief, never truly believed in the gods that Kodran keeps, never had a title or any sort of favor with the tribes that his grandfather had been banished from. He was an imitation, nothing more.
It wasnโt Kodranโs fault that he was more.ย
It wasnโt Kodranโs fault that he was everything a wide-eyed little girl had seen in her father, tall and strong and capable, fierce like all the legends of all the heroes heโd poured into her since she was old enough to understand what honor was. It wasnโt his fault that he was proud and smart like the memory she cherished, wasnโt his fault that just the scent of him could make Inaraโs knees shake. It wasnโt his fault that his dark eyes and dark hair were just like Ulrichโs must have been before heโd gotten grey (more than a little bit her fault, no doubt), and it certainly wasnโt his fault that when Kodran was kind to her and she retreated she felt the same bite of disappointment in herself sheโd felt the day she watched Ulrich die, wasnโt his fault her heart raced in every battle and every time that Kodran limped along showing signs of sickness because she feared having to watch Kodran die, too.
And it really wasnโt Kodranโs fault that Inara could express none of this, her eyes getting wide and cheeks getting hot before fleeing from his presence at every chance to hide behind Alistair or Duncan or even Jory, for fuckโs sake, as annoying as that coward might have been.
When Iโm a Warden for real, Iโll be stronger, she told herself. When Iโm a Warden for real, Iโll talk to him.ย