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09-16-2015, 10:16 AM
ROWTAG
Anyone standing where he stood in that moment would have proclaimed that he was blessed. The day was perfect, birds sat perched upon branches, singing songs of merriment, their voices carrying through the forest like a symphony. Rays of sunlight filtered down through the canopy, dappling the ground in intricate patterns of shadow and light. Spring flowers had bloomed and everywhere he stepped he had to take care as to not ruin their beauty. And he was free to enjoy the forest in all of its Birdsong glory.
But he was not enjoying it.
He was miserable, and so, everything was unbearable. When Rowtag was in a bad mood he saw the world from an entirely different perspective. To him, the birds were not singing in tune, rather screaming in unison, their voices echoing through the woodland. The sun was scolding hot against his skin and if he even dared to look up, it blinded his vision. The flowers were most likely covered in thorns and so he had no choice but to avoid them. And he might have been free, but free to enjoy what exactly?
He had no home, no family, no friends. He could feel no joy with those three key essentials missing from his life. And yes, perhaps it was his fault that he had been exiled. Perhaps it was his fault that he had taken the prize jewel of those diamond worshiping freaks, so what? It had merely been a practical joke. And in his defense he had given it back to them— eventually. But exiled?! Did they expect him to live on his own? Alone in the wilderness? They had sent him to die, surely! Kicked him out without so much as a “Best wishes for the future Rowtag!”
Even his mother had not wished him farewell and he cursed her, she had never been approving of him. But his father had shown up to bid him farewell, didn’t even utter a word. He had looked down upon his son and had sighed in disappointment, shaking his head solemnly before turning away. And that had hurt— more than any words could have. Of all people, his Pa was the one he admired the most, he was the one he would have thought might have stood up for him. The one he had hoped might have come to the rescue like he had when he was a colt, stuck in the mud by the river. But he had walked away and not once had he looked back.
So Rowtag had held his head high, pushed the heartbreak aside and had marched away from his childhood home, away from those who did not value his peculiar talents. It wasn’t until now, a season later that he even considered turning back, to run home to his parents and to plead forgiveness to the elders. But he was a stubborn creature— under no circumstance would he give them the satisfaction of seeing him beg.
So there he was, picking his way through brambles and thorns, muttering obscenities aimed at the screaming birds under his breath; homeless and hopelessly lost.
But he was not enjoying it.
He was miserable, and so, everything was unbearable. When Rowtag was in a bad mood he saw the world from an entirely different perspective. To him, the birds were not singing in tune, rather screaming in unison, their voices echoing through the woodland. The sun was scolding hot against his skin and if he even dared to look up, it blinded his vision. The flowers were most likely covered in thorns and so he had no choice but to avoid them. And he might have been free, but free to enjoy what exactly?
He had no home, no family, no friends. He could feel no joy with those three key essentials missing from his life. And yes, perhaps it was his fault that he had been exiled. Perhaps it was his fault that he had taken the prize jewel of those diamond worshiping freaks, so what? It had merely been a practical joke. And in his defense he had given it back to them— eventually. But exiled?! Did they expect him to live on his own? Alone in the wilderness? They had sent him to die, surely! Kicked him out without so much as a “Best wishes for the future Rowtag!”
Even his mother had not wished him farewell and he cursed her, she had never been approving of him. But his father had shown up to bid him farewell, didn’t even utter a word. He had looked down upon his son and had sighed in disappointment, shaking his head solemnly before turning away. And that had hurt— more than any words could have. Of all people, his Pa was the one he admired the most, he was the one he would have thought might have stood up for him. The one he had hoped might have come to the rescue like he had when he was a colt, stuck in the mud by the river. But he had walked away and not once had he looked back.
So Rowtag had held his head high, pushed the heartbreak aside and had marched away from his childhood home, away from those who did not value his peculiar talents. It wasn’t until now, a season later that he even considered turning back, to run home to his parents and to plead forgiveness to the elders. But he was a stubborn creature— under no circumstance would he give them the satisfaction of seeing him beg.
So there he was, picking his way through brambles and thorns, muttering obscenities aimed at the screaming birds under his breath; homeless and hopelessly lost.
i'll be your light, your match, your burning sun
@Ophelia open to others but wanting to get him to the Edge asap c:
