Achaius’ footsteps made bold impressions upon the soft sandy earth, epitaphs to the stars of his passing. The twitch of fabric across his shoulders and the whisper of wind through the strands of darkness at his nape were the smallest part of a ballad that marked his place among the pulsing hearts and the keening of lost promises in the rustle of feathers. The earth had yielded many mortals before him, and would birth many more after him, but there would be none exactly like him; drifting and stagnant and clarion in the fugue of a pseudo-human life. He wore eyes that had inherited beauty not in themselves, but in their beholding. Senses and thoughts that had sensed and thought all the greatness of the world before being born blind and silent in his body; still dreaming of life. But such are we all; the earth and water that sustains us, the fire and air that empowers us – the empathy that enables us.
There was a sea of new pale green grass beneath him, but he still felt as if he were walking on sand. Well, he didn’t know it was pale green – at the moment it was mostly silver, courtesy of the moonlight. But it was green in his mind’s eye. He could feel the sand slide beneath his feet, feel the warmth of it build up over the day burning up through his legs. It certainly reminded him of desert. And desert reminded him of… what was it? he frowned in the dark; every few minutes since his feet had touched the sand he was jabbed by a memory that was incompletely formed. Someone, or something was trying to get the attention of his conscious brain and yet… he couldn’t quite turn his thoughts toward these impressions fast enough to catch it.
All around him was a world of yesterday’s promises; dimly lit paradises bludgeoned with doubt by the icy fists of uncertainty. Walking beneath the canopy of stars he could feel – and almost taste – the bitter apogee of newfound grace; newborn hope. His steps were light and unhurried as the gentle breeze that swept upon them from the west, his eyes masked by the cautious optimism of new life. Twilight had faded into the veil of darkness. Stars dotted the canopy above as it darkened in consistent lethargy from navy blues to tones of darker black, and illuminated the suns of nations far forgotten. Above him, Polaris burned his passionate might, as though to rival the predominance of the sun during the day, irrelevant to the distances between. But the moon outshone him, even in crescent shape, and her light made ghosts of the few, pallid creatures that skirted the edge of his sight.
He glanced around him as he came to the beach. He flexed his neck, touching his chin against his chest and stretching the tension out of his shoulders. The sound of waves breaking feebly on sand in the calm air was all he heard, at the moment. He walked forward, to the bright flashes of silver off the cresting heights and paused at the edge of the water. It lapped, cool with a chill of winter still, against his feet, and starkly contrast to the heat of the dry sand of his previous steps. He shivered, and watched the light jump and dance across the water as his feet sank in the damp bank. Achaius could swim but… that felt impolite. ”Knock, knock” he said out loud, glancing upward and down the beach. He knew there was a bridge, to his left a short way – Ilios had mentioned. Probably no one would see him out here in the dark, however. No matter, it was well past the middle of the night so he doubted the wait would be long. The salty air was refreshing and the play of moonlight on the waves was attractive and something about it was pulling on that memory he couldn’t dislodge. He settled his weight over the shifting, wet sand and – while his gray eyes looked outward into the water his thoughts gradually turned inward, roped into stalking something half-imagined in the back of his mind.
Achaius.
|
|
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[O] We build too many walls (Knock, knock?)
