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02-11-2015, 07:39 AM
och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen
då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,
"'Course I can."
'Course you can't.
He didn't know what he had expected, really—another miracle, and the small mare popping to her feet like some kind of valkyrie? It wouldn't have surprised him, per se, but it would definitely have been unrealistic to expect that of her, given what she had already done. All he got, for his question and her confidence, was some kind of graceless, uncoordinated flapping, wet feathers and wet limbs waving weakly and amounting to precisely nothing. She still lay in the sand, the ocean nibbling at her hocks with a rather definite promise, and she finished her attempt with giving up and staring—no, more like glaring—at him. He snorted. He didn't know why, but it felt like the appropriate thing to do.
But at least she was not beyond asking for his help, though he wasn't sure she actually had to ask when he was already there, giving it freely. Slowly, he lowered his head. It seemed that the situation had returned to its original problem: Mauja having to haul a half-drowned, exhausted mare up the beach. And how, exactly, do you do that? How do you even help someone to stand? Her inelegant attempt from earlier danced in his mind, her rather ridiculous and helpless flapping.. even if he got her upright, would she be strong enough to stand, with trembling muscles, or would she just fall over, even if she locked her knees?
Maybe some warmth would help? At this point, he doubted it would do no harm at least, unless he accidentally set her on fire or something—but, given how wet she was.. he felt confident it would take a while before she actually caught flame. So with as much control as he could muster he sought for that strange place in his chest, the place that was full of fire instead of ice, and drew upon something that was equal parts pain and equal parts fury.
Heat washed against him with a rhythmic beat, the wings of a fire-hawk spitting a few tendrils of flame as it hung in the air beside her. Every part of it strained to break free of his control and speed out towards an unknown point, where he knew it would disappear in a burst of heat and light, but he held on to it, forced it to stay where it was, and give back life to her.
"To be fair," he began to say, mind splitting into several small parts, each focusing upon their individual task, "I think my chances of forcing you upright are incredibly small," so I'm just going to stop an ocean instead.
Between one wave and the next ice rose behind and around her, spires no higher than his knees packed so tightly as to form a wall, and the water sloshed harmlessly against it. The bird wavered, strained, drifted a little outward before he caught it again, and dragged it back to where he wanted it, hanging above her wet frame.
"Now you can rest a little longer without dying in the process," he mused in his soft, lilting voice, knowing that he had only postponed the problem. Oh, if he only knew someone he could send the owls for.. but he knew no one with powers that would aid him now.
'Course you can't.
He didn't know what he had expected, really—another miracle, and the small mare popping to her feet like some kind of valkyrie? It wouldn't have surprised him, per se, but it would definitely have been unrealistic to expect that of her, given what she had already done. All he got, for his question and her confidence, was some kind of graceless, uncoordinated flapping, wet feathers and wet limbs waving weakly and amounting to precisely nothing. She still lay in the sand, the ocean nibbling at her hocks with a rather definite promise, and she finished her attempt with giving up and staring—no, more like glaring—at him. He snorted. He didn't know why, but it felt like the appropriate thing to do.
But at least she was not beyond asking for his help, though he wasn't sure she actually had to ask when he was already there, giving it freely. Slowly, he lowered his head. It seemed that the situation had returned to its original problem: Mauja having to haul a half-drowned, exhausted mare up the beach. And how, exactly, do you do that? How do you even help someone to stand? Her inelegant attempt from earlier danced in his mind, her rather ridiculous and helpless flapping.. even if he got her upright, would she be strong enough to stand, with trembling muscles, or would she just fall over, even if she locked her knees?
Maybe some warmth would help? At this point, he doubted it would do no harm at least, unless he accidentally set her on fire or something—but, given how wet she was.. he felt confident it would take a while before she actually caught flame. So with as much control as he could muster he sought for that strange place in his chest, the place that was full of fire instead of ice, and drew upon something that was equal parts pain and equal parts fury.
Heat washed against him with a rhythmic beat, the wings of a fire-hawk spitting a few tendrils of flame as it hung in the air beside her. Every part of it strained to break free of his control and speed out towards an unknown point, where he knew it would disappear in a burst of heat and light, but he held on to it, forced it to stay where it was, and give back life to her.
"To be fair," he began to say, mind splitting into several small parts, each focusing upon their individual task, "I think my chances of forcing you upright are incredibly small," so I'm just going to stop an ocean instead.
Between one wave and the next ice rose behind and around her, spires no higher than his knees packed so tightly as to form a wall, and the water sloshed harmlessly against it. The bird wavered, strained, drifted a little outward before he caught it again, and dragged it back to where he wanted it, hanging above her wet frame.
"Now you can rest a little longer without dying in the process," he mused in his soft, lilting voice, knowing that he had only postponed the problem. Oh, if he only knew someone he could send the owls for.. but he knew no one with powers that would aid him now.
du lät exakt som ismael.
