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08-16-2015, 11:31 PM
Cera Humanize inhuman ends - it's all the same for the dreamers - it's all the same for us
Birdsong was approaching. The desert was warmer, the weather more hospitable, and his bones far less frozen with each night. Ranjiri no longer avoided him, but she certainly found her time to be more pleasant outside the Throat and away from him. Or some other reasoning he could not fathom aside from the fact that it meant she was not there. And so he suffered the nightmares, the old and the new, in silence and despair. He'd stopped thrashing and screaming out before he'd even reached his first year. He liked to think of himself as an overachiever. He was ragged, but work was better than sleep. He patrolled the borders endlessly, plodding along if only to keep himself awake another hour, minute, second longer. It was damaging physically, especially in the season that despised him so much with his frail body, but he'd take the exhaustion over the nightmares. So he worked. And worked and worked and patrolled and worked some more. It was his only consolation, his sanctuary. And as no orders came from above for crafting, Cera found himself returning eventually to the well he'd started. Incomplete, he noted sourly. Not as if they didn't have plenty other crafters. And just as normal, the only thing to truly comfort him in the end was forging. He lay beside the deep well with its pathetic covering, seeing no need to exert energy with standing. He had a decent fire in the sands that he'd spent a few solid hours on, and the coals were hot enough to bend and shape the metal. From there it was simplistic, shaping and dragging the metal to him, Ilaria idly batting around little clumps of raw metal nuggets to entertain herself. It was a lazy sort of endeavor to anyone else, but the exertion was the same regardless. Slowly the top of the well began to take shape, and then three decently sized bars in a half-rectangle shape above it. The bucket was the last piece, but his strength was wavering and he'd run out of metal before that could be accomplished. Sighing, the Prince lay prostrate on his side in the sand, wings askew, staring idly at the lip of the otherwise completed well. At least he'd finally done it. |
