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11-10-2014, 07:39 AM
The company of the pink mare is appreciated. Though hesitant at first, the comfort of her feathered appendages is reassuring. I can do this. I have to do this. No courage with out fear? Her words are wise, yet I, the five year old storyteller, comprehends them. Midas' words are soon thrust into the air, but there is no true comfort in them. He is a quiet stallion, I figure. To me, he is law. He is not tyrannical-- not warm and fuzzy. He is the very image of a leader. Had I made him out to be something he isn't? I thought he was an open book, waiting for his pages to be read. I wanted so badly to flip the page-- his page. To read the words that are most likely written in a faraway language. But he is no open book-- he is a diary. A lock rests on this diary, allowing no one to read. Is that what the Earth God had meant when speaking to him and I? The cold stone lock needs removal. This is what I have understood, at least.
"Should we warn the herd and gather a few others willing to help?" I inquired softly, still pondering the whole book-Midas metaphor. The pink lady asks for Fina, and Fina comes. She is a galore of reds and oranges dancing through the cold air. She is grace and beauty, her movements beautiful and infallible. She is a Phoenix, a thing to be feared and adored. She lands on her bonded's back. Her talons hold onto flesh, sinking each dagger softly into supple skin. She is delicate, for there is no blood. She has probably landed on him millions of times. I would be rather nervous having a companion of such caliber on my back. If she sneezes, will fire spew from her beak and nostrils, burning the very fur off of Midas' back?
ooc: so sorry for the wait ;3;
"Should we warn the herd and gather a few others willing to help?" I inquired softly, still pondering the whole book-Midas metaphor. The pink lady asks for Fina, and Fina comes. She is a galore of reds and oranges dancing through the cold air. She is grace and beauty, her movements beautiful and infallible. She is a Phoenix, a thing to be feared and adored. She lands on her bonded's back. Her talons hold onto flesh, sinking each dagger softly into supple skin. She is delicate, for there is no blood. She has probably landed on him millions of times. I would be rather nervous having a companion of such caliber on my back. If she sneezes, will fire spew from her beak and nostrils, burning the very fur off of Midas' back?
ooc: so sorry for the wait ;3;
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