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He pretends not to notice the ignorance of the shîrl, the way the obscene little bird (to Carnesîr's vivid imagination, not so much real life) rolls his eyes and ruffles his feathers, scorning the presence of the younger stallion. It is not long until this little bird begins to bother him; every time the boy's sparkling eyes settle on Onni's face, sweet as a budding primrose, he can feel the bird's eyes weighing down on his shoulders, and so he resists the urge to panic in his typical flying, mad-dash way. Often he does not receive attention, and for most part he does not mind this, and of course there's a story behind it, a reason for his hijinked mind.. Once upon a time, all the beautiful animals in the world laid eye on him, and they were disappointed by his disappointing lack of muscle or bravado or courage, because he was a boy, not the prince they made him out to be, not future king, instead he was destined to become a story-teller, and he swore to himself to seek that path, no matter how many eyes wrinkled in laughter or how many lips quirked in malicious smiles at sight of the frail boy-of-stories who was supposed to be a leader of armies and conqueror of worlds. Not too long after the coward fled. The End.
But was it an ending? Now he was living, for once unburdened by the glares, his skin no longer itching with their destructive eyes that could tear him from limb to limb if they watched him for too long. It was now, not before, that he had a chance at fresh, frivolous life, a normal life like any other unicorn, pegasus, horse, whatever. No longer was he expected to commune with rabidash rabbits or wily wizards or ornery orcs. He did not have to continue his lessons in language, learning tongues so he may speak to visitors in their language out of courtesy, despite the fact they were entering his world; he wasn't taught court etiquette anymore, how to hold a conversation, how to drop the hints of invasion here or write a cry for help, when to the light the bonfires for back-up.
He could be what he wanted to be, and that was the world to him (even despite the tears that streaked his face.)
Carnesîr watches her lips purse, the sleek arch of her throat as she tilts her pretty head towards the sky. He notes how her vaguely once-ruffled (at the very least tense, perhaps anxious at sign of a stranger?) form is composed, her muscles like pouring water, fluid and at ease. But then his eyes go back to her face, her luminous eyes watching the crystalline constellations, little pieces of beauty incredibly close but so far away. Does she admire the stars? Does she ever want to escape to those beautiful specks of white light, disappear, murmur to the souls and watch the earth from a safe and respectable distance? Questions, questions, questions, waiting on his tongue, perching in the cage and ready to be freed from behind those metal bars.
Her first question is of love, the passion of the heart, and he sighs, a romantic sort of trill coming off his ashen lips. He remembers his parents, wed and bonded, their arguments and their tears and their laughter. What is love? Is it that moment when your heart skips at beat in sheer joy as you see a Her, or a Him? Is it infatuation, a wanting to never leave the side of your sweetheart? No. It is none of these things, it is something wholly more pure and lonely and lovely and heartfelt. "Love is when you see that Her, or Him, and can't you breathe. When you argue and fight and bleed at other, but return once more, ready to lay down your weapons. When love true, your souls twine and time every not see each other, you heart breaks little, but repaired immediate when you return to each other." He tries hard to make the words write. This time, he wants to pour it out and show her and captivate her. "Love is union of two souls that complete and compliment."
Up his eyes go, watching the stars, trying hard to ignore her beautiful eyes and shining coat.
Her second question is one of violence; a storm breaks out over his eyes, clouding and sparking with volts of electric lightning, and his leonine tail whips once, twice in dissatisfaction. It is a question he has pondered many times himself, in hopes of one day eliminating the darkness that ravages the hearts of mortal, but it cannot and will never be cured. "Many things. Some lash out- at world- because have they nothing to be joyful for. Too many times, downtrodden, not enough uplifted. Sometimes fault of parents, not teaching well, ignoring, uncaring. Maybe, villains do not learn love, the balance to our impure souls. Not question that can be answered, Onni." His smile is apologetic, hesitant, and he feels terribly limited by his little knowledge of her language. If only I had listened to my language classes. "But... without violence, hate, anger, rage, sadness, we not know joy, sincere, happiness, beauty of our twisted world, nor would we understand pure of soul, like you."
For the last question, Carnesîr laughs despite his somber eyes. "A place where trees rake blue sky, silver trunks serving as a world above earth. A place where beauty is everywhere, but darkness curls in every soul, and violence stalks wood, for we tried to cast it out." He can't explain it, not quite to her, how they claimed virginity was not the absence of sex in young lives but the absence of the impure; how when you came of age you were expected to use an advanced magic, to try and rid yourself of the imperfections in your soul, such as lust, envy, jealousy, and anger; and how war went on ahead anyways. "Now, here in sun-land, live in north valley. Many unicorns... did not know there were angels flying out here." He doesn't seem to notice the compliment he dropped this time; it was unintentional, a slip-up of words having been raised to believe winged beings were often of divine descent.
He steps forward, graceful, and reaches out towards her withers, in a slow, liquid movement, the starlight shining on his neck and shoulder, hoping to reach out and groom along the spine and feathers of Onni's neck.
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[P] Drowning on the porcelain shores of the frozen ocean
