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08-18-2015, 08:30 AM
Patient and fueled by curiosity, the boy nestled between fire and ice, melding himself to the wall and the embers, catching the patterns of light dancing across their large gathering. The potential for learning, the gaining of wisdom, the rise of sagacity bolstered his mood, and his great smile enveloped his devilish features in a raw placement of ebullience and enthrallment, curling his forelegs together and listening carefully to the Haruspex’s proclamation. Orsino, not altogether enraptured in tales, but perhaps with other youthful companions, wandered away from the sparking edges of the fire, and towards the deer, batting at the younger one’s shoulder and racing away as the other bounded across, and began their own skirmish. All too soon Thranduil had completed his myth of a cunning hawk, a great, grand phoenix, and the forsaken giant (he nearly laughed at the image of him being purple), and suddenly, it was the boy’s turn. He frowned for a moment, unsure of what to tell or what to say. His mother had provided him with endless stories of Isilme, of a herd and time long since extinguished, of the former Edge members conquered, defeated, and lowering their heads across the wake of the Steppe, but he felt he couldn’t do them justice. Perhaps he could provide a story he’d experienced, gild the framework, emboss it in the same intriguing glow Thranduil had unraveled his. The choice of which was almost immediate – the newest scholar’s presence, and his never-ending search for his long-lost friend churned against his thoughts, his notions, his sentiments, until they prospered and brightened, billowed past his lips and entangled the enigma of a day not so long ago. “There was once a girl with wings and horns. They were lovely things, and one day she’d surely grow into them and soar above mountains, hills, and valleys. A boy liked them, and her, very much. He thought she was neat, and powerful, and capable! But a Scholar, with eerie eyes, told the children the girl’s wings were bad. They would cause her to do furious things, to be wicked, to be cruel, and would turn her against them. The Scholar offered to tear them off of her. The boy thought that was ridiculous. ‘It should be her choice, not ours,’ he said. How could wings make someone alter their thoughts? How could soaring amidst the clouds ensure she’d become a savage? So, the girl chose to keep her wings, and became friends with the other foals. Then, she mysteriously disappeared.” He tried not to let the last line cloud his features, furrow his brow, or leave him in a lingering frown. The child allowed it to end on a harsh mystery – because that’s all he’d been left with – no sign of Aithniel’s whereabouts, no presence, no land, nothing. Maybe it was a cruel end to their friendship, maybe it was a harsh bout of reality, or maybe it was just another turn of their eventual fates, vanishing, igniting, and fleeting. OOC;; --- TAG;; @[ ] "talk talk talk" |
- table by Niki -
@Tiamat
