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04-27-2015, 10:30 AM
He needed it most desperately, but it would not bless his golden coat. Sleep, or that sleep which can heal the sick and cure the blind. Even now his heavy golden lids flutter with its teasing, but they could not fall completely then, and they cannot fall completely now. How many hours ago had that been? It seemed impossible to count such distances. After meeting Gaucho at the head of the Basin he shuffled to his high top cave, collapsing on the wolf skin. Haldir, that foolish fawn was all over his bonded, checking for injuries or just the excitement of him being home, the gold did not know. He had laid there, burying his head in the soft furs of the cloak, all his tack still upon him. No sound sleep would come. Fits and snatches he stole, but always they were ended with a groan and tossing. Images of war, blood, bodies, and death, and the harrowing of Kahlua, then the charred form of Midas spun like a madness about him. He couldn’t take it! Body rips from the ground with surprising force. Poor Haldir had received the worse of it. Still fidgeting about the collapsed golden form, the deer was knocked to the ground by the golden’s anger filled movement. A bleat rang out but is not answered as with trembling pale white eyes the bonded deer tried to understand what had done this to the gold. As much as he had tried to study the gold’s strange race these horrors were unknown to him. For the dark deer had never seen death. Looking wildly about the golden paced his cave. He couldn’t stay here. The walls were closing in on him. The air slipping from his grasp. Snorting he suddenly took off out and down the slope. The dark deer, once again seriously worried for his bonded followed. Out the fitful golden’s path wove, in madness almost it seemed. He was desperate to find air, and space, not trapped here between the mountains. No, above them, there he could find, so there is where he drug his body, delusional almost with the lack of such a needed blessing. It was always said though, that it took the lost, to find the lost. So now, upon a high top plateau, he stands in the snow. His coat shivers now and again but he doesn’t seem to take mind. He could breathe up here, and the numbing cold was welcomed. Haldir stood, leaning against his bond’s leg. His winter coat (being in the Basin mostly) was already growing in and so he was protected from the harshest winds, but he could still feel the cold of his soul as he waited for the golden to come back to his senses. He had tried to use that strange power he had found before. Persuading mists to float about his hooves, but the gold had stopped him. At first sight of the fog the tall creature nipped him sharply and told him off for trying to put him under his control. The deer had been ever sullen after. A cry rings out over the snow. It was ill timing for him. Eyes were closing for longer and longer, but with the cry they opened, and sought it. It echoes again and feels like a cry out of place for it calls a name of one dead, in a tone of the present. He should let them be the gold decided. Let the poor dame find out for herself that the world was a piece of shit, and chews everything up, only to spit it back out at you. Haldir though had already left his side and stepped towards the crying voice. His soul was not so dead to the world and is still stained with a foreshadowing of doom at the sound of that voice. Turning he looks back at the gold, and again in a defying moment, calls to his bonded, stomping his hoof in the snow. The gold’s ears flip back as he looks with annoyance to the fawn, who was no longer a babe. Yet he struggles to find the energy necessary to show his anger. It would be far easier to just give in. So he stumbles behind. The deer bounds through the snow and with continued movement the golden comes more to his senses. He assumed some lost herd member of the Falls had comes, shock still clutching their heart after battle to find the lost czar, not knowing he lay back in his homeland colder than the snow about him. What he did not expect to find was her. Her gray form would have been hidden permanently from him had it not been jerking and bleeding. The deer had stopped in shock, watching it. The golden charger, shoulders still slouched with the weight of the world stops next to him, and raises his horned head to its full height. The vision before him, like cold water to the face, sobers his on fitful soul. It was Africa. Snatching images of him in a disguise remembers her much different from this day. She had smiled then, and with a cold realization, had loved and been loved. Now her coat was tattered, and spirit looked worse. In comparison to her, the golden looked like a happy spring bird. For she wore her weariness worse, and pained heart tore upon her mortality. Standing there, watching her struggle over the rise and call her dead lovers name in the assured fit of madness, the golden felt a most rare feeling. His quivered at the touch of the sight before him, and it yearned to reach out. It was pity. He felt for this doomed soul, pity. Golden coat, under his cloak quivered at the touch of it. It was not a feeling the gold had much experience with, and especially did not enjoy recognizing. In this case though especially, it could not be helped. It was not though, for the death of Midas. That czar and any he touched would never have even the thought of the golden. No, it was beyond the name she called, and the banners she had born. This was not politics, nor war, this was called forth from a shared feeling of being creatures of this earth. Of being vulnerable. For that form which stumbled and dragged her dead heart through the snow had been him a time too many to count. Like a terrible nightmare it came over and over again in his world, and tortured his soul. His ability to lock away the pain, was never complete, and though he would have said it was a few weeks, he had been that same creature just days before in the last thunderstorm of summer. He pitied her, because he was her. The only thing which had stopped him from falling completely to her level had been a kind soul, a harboring lion among the terror of lightning and thunder. It had patched him best it could, and saved the scattered shards of his soul enough for him to move on She too, needed that kind soul. In her world, the golden knew only so well, the dark clouds above might as well be pouring forth their wrath and ruin. Her mind and body would not know the difference. They needed a protector, and shelter. The gold pitied her, because he could not be that kind soul. How could he? He could barely shelter himself from the storm, he did not have the strength to do so for another. He was not a saint, and he was not a savior. He was guilty of the same crime as she, bound by the same chains. He could not save her from he himself could not escape. Why would she want saving anyway. Even when the golden had been protect, and sheltered, and the shards of his life stitched together again, look at him as he truly is. A hollow shell. His life all about him was placed together again, but there was nothing inside of him to truly feel as he once had. Luckily for him he was a liar, and a damned good one. So good were his skills he had wrapped himself in them. It made the days easier and the nights less long. It allowed him to laugh and forget, most days. Too many days recently had been plaguing him with the sickness of reality. But most days he fooled himself, and could lie his way to a less harmful place. Most days he could believe the rain was a sunshower of peace. Could she? Could she tear from her own breast her own beating heart? The golden, as he stood watching her come stumbling towards him, feared she could not. So the gold pitied her, for he saw she would be cursed to continually drag herself through the world as she was now. The deer at his side shuffled in the snow, watching the coming figure as the golden was locked away in his mind, dragging out such long dark thoughts. The babe though was having a struggle of his own. The hairs upon his neck and back had begun to bristle and stand on end. His legs began to twitch and fidget. Down through the long lines of his unknown heritage the deer’s race were keen, and sharp. And though it may not have crossed the mind of others yet, he felt a cold hand follow the mare towards them. His soul, good and light, unabashed by a world of death, pain, and fear, as always wanted to fix her. His pale eyes, as they saw for the first time, blood and fester did yearn to bring peace back. His large good heart yearned to send the foreshadowing cold away with a warm peace. As before, a mist began to swirl about him in is desires and he stepped forward towards the mare. A cloven hoof, and golden limb bars his away. Looking up sharply he is ready to stand his ground again. Ready to fight for what he wants. But when his pale eyes look upon the golden’s face the deer stills. It still stares at the mare, never looking from her, but there was a tone upon its features that made the deer stop. There was more here than what his little mists could fix. Looking back the deer resolves to his place watching. If that had been all to cross above the rocks, the gold might have kept his outward face a little better. The world though never made it an easy task though, and the still babe face of Zahra popped up from the edge of his view. A cloven hoof steps back, as she calls out in desperation for her mother. Her sanity called the grey and the golden back to the world. A mercenary of hope coming to try and reclaim their souls in one last desperate plea. It gnawed at him to see her struggling in the snow, and brought a bitterness to his blood to see a babe at this time. To prevent becoming a complete mirror to the gray mare, he ignores the crying child. At last he steps forward, and Haldir, still uncertain steps timidly behind. What would he say? What could he possibly say to her? To himself? Was it she he saw before him or a mirror? A weariness drags his steps but in the throes of such great forces it has grown small and weak, just as everything did. Coming towards her the golden stops a few paces out, and whispers in the air. “Africa….” It trails, lingering on the snowy banks, trembling in the virus of pity and empathy that has sickened his soul. Haldir looks round, seeing the girl coming after the mother and his large ears lift. Watching her. There is a heart in her more alike his own than the others here, and the small deer feels latched on to it. A soldier of hope finding another on the battlefield. Slipping behind the golden, he begins towards her. Not to bring her comfort, or shelter. He was not strong enough for that either. But to curl up under hope’s mercenary, under a soul still good as his, and renew what was being torn apart before him. The golden let him go. Now too absorbed in the gray’s torn form. To caught in the mirror, and for once not because of his looks. Sleeplessness has torn away his masks and his skill. Like an old woman stands before a mirror without makeup and seeing the dark puffy eyes, and wrinkles he gazes at her. There was not thought bright enough to shine in their shared darkness. And though the golden’s day of feeling the biting sting was over four years ago, he pitied the woman before him, for he could say with experience, it never grew better. It never healed. Nor could he begin to help her. He was powerless to sew her back together, and give her at least a hollow shell. He pitied her, because he and she were both beyond help. They carried worse than broken hearts. They carried shattered hearts, unfixable, with half the pieces stolen beyond this world. "talk talk talk" OOC:: I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. Damnit -cries- Tag:: @[Africa] @[Zahra] Wardrobe:: circlet, golden cloak, hawk necklace, armband, satchel (invisibility cloak, polearm, knife) Identities:: Amphere, Cashmere....ugh I need to timeline this a bit more XD Thranduil
His words are clever and bright
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