.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-12-2013, 03:12 PM
|
Carnesîr watches her edge away from him and the tepid brown waters. Despite her hard voice and even more so hardened body, she is graceful and deft in her movements, tense as they are. Why so tense? Ah... the dead must be the cause of it. Occasionally he had come across individuals who feared the oblivion, but not Carnesîr. They were frightening of course, bits of floating bodies and bloated limbs grotesque in the clammy water, but they were dead. The dead could not hurt the living except in painful memories. Carn, then. He does not like the shortening of the name. It cuts it in half, the meaning. Prince of- and then nothing. Yet apart from the slightest of tightening about his eyes, he reveals not his opinion on her nicknaming. And besides, perhaps she unintentionally had a point. What was he the prince of, but nothing? Onwards the mare goes, speaking of her ineptitude and inexperience, as depressing and oppressive as possible. "Don't be like so. Only coward wears no scars upon his pelt; injuries are unavoidable, especially to a warrior maiden. Besides, every hurt is lesson- I doubt you will make the mistake easily again." He offers her a smile, one almost vacant and empty of emotion, but his eyes tell his feelings of wist. "Shadow... Úlairi." 'Carn' shivers, glancing about himself uneasily, muscles rigid and unyielding. Something deadens in his gaze as he returns his earth eyes to her sparkling violet ones. There is unease and fear and a silent something bordering on admiration in the eyes of his. "You are brave, Úlairi, taking on the name of what strikes terror into the hearts of many. Are you not afraid of the dark, and what hides in it?" More words pass between them, but his mind drifts away again, leaving him absent-headed as Shadow speaks of what he might be. What brings him back to the crow girl is her askance of a story- certainly this is a good question for the scholar and keeper of legends. A smile blooms upon his face, splitting his mouth into a curling crescent of joy, and with the softest of chiming laughs he begins to move forth, leading the way out of the swamp. Cold water bubbles up between his cleft feet, and mud plasters his thin feathers, but he sticks to the path, wary of the cold waters. "I will tell you story, but you must give me one in return." For several minutes Carnesîr gathers his thoughts silently as they walk, metaphorical fingers playing over the familiar legends he has recorded. There are many stories in his head; ballads of hope, epics of war, songs of heroes, and then the smaller novels, lives of which are now gone and kept only in his head. "There was once a time when we were pure of heart and soul, where greed and jealousy did not taint us. We were simple and humble servants of those who shaped us, but we were at peace. "As with anyone and anything, peace will not survive forever, and Death walked forward with his grim blade in hand. His brothers and sisters, gods themselves, rushed forward to stop them. 'Do not kill them' they told Death with wide eyes and stern mouths. 'They are at peace.' "But Death was wise and older than them. He shook his head firmly. 'Look at them,' he answered in turn. 'They are blind fools, sheep to be herded by us. Give them their imagination, give them true life.' But the gods were unrelenting, refusing to give their precious little toys a taste of true life. "So then Death said: 'At least let me cut the life from some of them. Too many and the world will be turned to ash, over-grazed and then they will all die slowly.' But the gods refused still. "There was silence for a long time as the Reaper vanished, but one day spilled forth two creatures of his to walk the world; the wolf, wise and cold, and the raven, cunning and bitter. They walked together as a pair, the wolf white as the moon, the raven dark as the night sky. The gods watched on in fear, but they could not meddle in the affairs of mortals, a law long unwritten. "It was the Raven who came first to the horses. 'Horses,' he croaked. 'I will teach you how to think.' And he kindled imagination within us, and sparked personality. "But it was the wolf who taught us how to run. 'Horses,' he growled. 'I will teach you how to live!' And he sprung forth and brought down four mares, five stallions, and eight foals before we realized what we must do; run. Then he went to the big cats, the cougars and the lions, and the bears, grizzly and polar, and went to all the predators and taught them how to hunt and feast on our flesh. "And between the two animals of his creation, the Reaper walked, scythe twirling as he cut down the old without worry, tore souls from the weakest of bodies. They gathered behind him, an army of the dead,and watched as the world was restored to balance. And this is why the Raven and the Wolf walk together; and this is also why we must learn that sometimes the things that seem worst to us are better than we think." Tell me your secrets, unburden your memories, and I'll save them for safe-keeping. |
