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11-13-2012, 08:11 AM
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Striking mights and maybes even more A useless thing called life It's a biting cold again blood runs through your veins, that's where our similarity ends Their bodies had walked beside one another a hundred times, maybe more; shadow and light flowed together across the pale snow under the dreary sky, his longer stride automatically shortened to accommodate her shorter. He didn't even think about it. If he had, perhaps he wouldn't have done it. Movements and words flowed from her like blood from a wound; a brush of her dark side against his pale flank, stirring the remnants of memories - of tarnished glory, of what could've been. She was formidable and ferocious, passionate about their race. He was a King of Winter - why did he not ally with the one mare who would help him bring such honor to their species? Why did he not push aside the weakness of his emotions, and become the machine he had always striven to be? He had no answer to it, not really, nothing but a shiver traveling across his skin at their brief touch. He could just forget. Forgive. He could lock away the crystalline, sharp intellect in a cage somewhere, become a fool - go stupid for her, just go along with the flow of life (a burden) and play with their kids. If he could just let go of everything, float away, become a dumb creature... But no. For better or for worse, he was cursed with intellect and a deep need to be in control - of the world, and of himself. He could not forsake all his dreams and plans for foolish whims, but he was so tired... surely Psyche would be able to bear the burden; she didn't seem the type to brood. He shook his head, rattling the thoughts loose and willing them out into space. "You know me better than that, honey," he told her, an ear twitching as the purr slid out of his mouth. But then, again, he gave his head a shake. "I hope you're not seriously believing I would've disbanded it. We're still alive and kicking, but juggling a herd and a secret society isn't easy - both are time consuming. We've had few missions since summer, and I'm sure you know why..." His eyes narrowed for a moment, as something dark and cold slithered through his voice, but then he let go of it - allowed it to fade, pass into memory. Psyche was to have been their engine, their center, the axis around which they turned - he was to have advised her, to keep both the Plague and the Edge safe. He had never been meant to somehow handle both herds. He'd kept the Plague alive, fairly well-stocked in members - it had to be enough.  |
