the Rift


[PRIVATE] Rite of Man

Reginald Posts: 165
Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7
Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE
Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.
#1


pleasure fused with pain this triumph of the soul

And so it begins, once again. He thought himself in control of his passion. He thought himself master over the anger in his breast that threatens daily to break through the prison of his abdomen, a starving blaze looking for kindling, for the kind of destruction that nourishes. He thought he could handle himself since the asinine spider of a filly intruded on his home that day, playing a game choreographed to the time of an aberrant rhythm. It’s all for naught; the grey-eyed prince is mistaken.

A foreign scent comes upon him, and he closes his eyes for a span of moments. He tries to calm the boiling blood in his veins. He eases his over-worked heart, trying to slow its rapidly growing pace. He breathes the bitter air of autumn-time, the breeze that carries the hint of moisture and future rainfall. The sun tries to stream through the break in the velvet grey clouds—he does not see its warmth and comfort. Try not to hate,, he hears his mother say. And he tries—he tries desperately for that woman.

He contemplates his actions; he could walk away. He could go to the river and drink from it; he could wander off and graze upon what’s left of the meadow’s greenish grasses to try and ignore the knowledge of this intruder on his door-step. He asks himself: Does he truly wish to be slave to his base desires? Does he want for mindless blood-shed, to be shackled to an impulse he knows he cannot act upon? This is a fruitless anger of his; Reginald is wise enough to know it. He knows his weak heart and brittle bone. Is it so hard for him to grow and wait for the time he will be old enough, large enough, strong enough for others to fear his shadow, to avoid his scent—to heed his demand for privacy and permission, for the right to breathe the air he happens to inhabit? Can he let it go?

“Abraham,” his voice raises from its customary whisper; he opens his eyes. He cannot let go; he cannot abide by this. “Abraham, come here. I need you; there’s a stranger.” The limit has been broken; his patience is worn. He subdues his anger, though, because he does not attack based on the fires of his blazing fury. No; his actions are according to principle. He has decided to uphold his own laws, and if his dam and sire refuse to aid him in his endeavor—so be it.


@[Abraham]
@[Kiara]
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Messages In This Thread
Rite of Man - by Reginald - 01-13-2014, 12:47 AM
RE: Rite of Man - by Abraham - 01-14-2014, 04:14 PM
RE: Rite of Man - by Kiara - 01-22-2014, 02:23 AM
RE: Rite of Man - by Reginald - 02-06-2014, 02:47 PM

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