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07-14-2014, 01:35 AM
He was dismissed. He left the gathering on soft feet, not a word of protest moving from his lips. As a child, he had learned only futility in begging – so he grew without that habit, accustomed to letting go when the time came. Nothing convinced Caneo to linger, yet nothing beyond the meadow called his name. He wandered its width, passing beyond the presence of the god as his thoughts moved. He walks now, too. His toes brush the soft grass and his velvet skin glitters beneath that pale eye of the sun. Does the Aurora Basin know his absence? Does anyone? He thinks of Roland, Lena. Of the story-telling mare and the hornless girl with skin the color of flame. He had seen a few of them there, in the burning lord’s presence. He might have spoken to them, might have helped them with the task even if his own heart yearned for nothing like subservience to others. Why didn’t he? His heart beats in his chest, but it becomes a black thing slithering across the ground, as well. A dream; a nightmare. It lingers just behind him, this foreign thing, unknowable, keening in a language he’s forgotten. Caneo doesn’t understand; his heart is hollow and he walks as if to leave it behind. What good was it in the desert? What good will it be here, where it cries only for more than he can give? The ceaseless movement of his limbs tapers off. He stands alone, a statue the color of rotten snow, a pair of eyes like the too-far emptiness of the winter sky. He does not remember purpose. He does not remember anything beyond the awful striving for this life, this empty life, which beats unceasingly inside of him.  |
@[Tandavi]
