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08-21-2014, 02:02 PM
I can hear my train comin'
Inventive thought was often something that held the stallion captive, as it did now.
He was watching leaves, to be specific about what held his attention, but it was not their shape or their color that interested him at this particular time – it was their sound. He had been thinking of music ever since Semira suggested it as a possible application of glass, and was occasionally lured away by sounds to investigate how it was they were made. Water was not something he thought he could mimic, for glass was not liquid, but the leaves?
They made music when the wind moved them, and their bodies rasped upon one another. In the seasons where the leaves were green and supple, the music was a whisper of heavy breath, almost no different than the wind itself – but the brittle leaves were a chorus.
The trills of Orangemoon birds are highlights in the notes, and as he ambles from low branch to low branch examine how they leaves are touching to create the sound and the general force of the wind escaping the temporary and movable blockage of foliage, mentally noting how each facet works with the other to create the myriad sounds of leaves in wind.
His thoughts venture back to the black tent and the tinkling of the glass objects as they met one another, and that recollection in combination with the leaves inspires a visual picture of an object that, he thinks anyway, will make music if its left out for the wind to touch it and strike the glass together as the leaves were doing now.
Taking more care in his observations, he now directs his attention to the size of the leaf making the sound, trying to compare the small to the large in their pitch and timbre, testing how each bore the touch of the chilly, autumn winds the whispered through their branches. Another idea comes and goes, more pictures of potentially useful tools – however useful instruments were.
But Semira had found them useful, and with word spreading that an open trading market was available to him in all four herds across the land of Helovia, he figures it is best that he knows how to apply his trade in as many ways as possible; the potential earnings of working with other herds far outweighed the time and effort it would take on his behalf, and it was pleasant to think of in so far as he would know things that could be taught to others.
He had dreaded the idea of teaching before it had come – but he’d rather enjoyed the feeling of being useful and talented while they’d made rope, and found that he was eager to continue sharing what he learned while tinkering away all by his lonesome. It not only was emotionally fulfilling, but also showed the herd that while the stallion was hermitic and not very useful for social matters, he did spend his time trying to benefit the herd as a whole – even while taking great pains to avoid them, most of the time.
[ OOC: He's somewhere in the forest, staring at leaves. x3 SO EXCITING HE IS. ]
@[Cheveyo]
He was watching leaves, to be specific about what held his attention, but it was not their shape or their color that interested him at this particular time – it was their sound. He had been thinking of music ever since Semira suggested it as a possible application of glass, and was occasionally lured away by sounds to investigate how it was they were made. Water was not something he thought he could mimic, for glass was not liquid, but the leaves?
They made music when the wind moved them, and their bodies rasped upon one another. In the seasons where the leaves were green and supple, the music was a whisper of heavy breath, almost no different than the wind itself – but the brittle leaves were a chorus.
The trills of Orangemoon birds are highlights in the notes, and as he ambles from low branch to low branch examine how they leaves are touching to create the sound and the general force of the wind escaping the temporary and movable blockage of foliage, mentally noting how each facet works with the other to create the myriad sounds of leaves in wind.
His thoughts venture back to the black tent and the tinkling of the glass objects as they met one another, and that recollection in combination with the leaves inspires a visual picture of an object that, he thinks anyway, will make music if its left out for the wind to touch it and strike the glass together as the leaves were doing now.
Taking more care in his observations, he now directs his attention to the size of the leaf making the sound, trying to compare the small to the large in their pitch and timbre, testing how each bore the touch of the chilly, autumn winds the whispered through their branches. Another idea comes and goes, more pictures of potentially useful tools – however useful instruments were.
But Semira had found them useful, and with word spreading that an open trading market was available to him in all four herds across the land of Helovia, he figures it is best that he knows how to apply his trade in as many ways as possible; the potential earnings of working with other herds far outweighed the time and effort it would take on his behalf, and it was pleasant to think of in so far as he would know things that could be taught to others.
He had dreaded the idea of teaching before it had come – but he’d rather enjoyed the feeling of being useful and talented while they’d made rope, and found that he was eager to continue sharing what he learned while tinkering away all by his lonesome. It not only was emotionally fulfilling, but also showed the herd that while the stallion was hermitic and not very useful for social matters, he did spend his time trying to benefit the herd as a whole – even while taking great pains to avoid them, most of the time.
[ OOC: He's somewhere in the forest, staring at leaves. x3 SO EXCITING HE IS. ]
@[Cheveyo]
Now I'm runnin' for my life
memorablemoose & larfsalot @deviantart
dinpattern.com
dinpattern.com
Any violence/magic is allowed to be used upon Dragomir at anytime, permitting it doesn't kill or seriously maim him without my permission <3
