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09-24-2015, 10:20 PM
Earth teach me regeneration as the seed which rises in the spring.
Where does a year go? One moment, it’s Tallsun and the world is all bright colors and sunny days. Then the days get shorter, and all of a sudden everything you love is overwhelming, and the changing leaves taunt you with the reality of your own mortality, and you are crushed. You are crushed by the need to escape; the need to observe every last possible thing before your ephemeral existence is blotted out into nothing. So you go, and time marches forward – mercilessly forward. Who knows what happens next? You hibernate somewhere in the recesses of your muddled mind. Eventually, months pass and the thoughts quietly gather themselves. And then it’s Birdsong again, and equally suddenly, it occurs to you that it’s time to return. It’s instinctual, inexplicable, this nomadic blood that drives such frustratingly fickle tendencies. But you obey without question. And here we are. The lanky red unicorn appears small against the vastness of the icy steppe. It is early morning – as apt a time for transition as any – and Kipling’s long shadow accompanies him as he meanders across the glittering wintery wonderland. He walks somewhat aimlessly, pausing occasionally to drag his muzzle contentedly through the snow. Flakes cling to his whiskers and chin, melting slowly. His coat never grows particularly thick thanks to his hotblooded lineage, and what little he had acquired has very nearly shed out by now. He is still a gawky figure – all legs – but he grew into himself more as he turned five. He has filled out and developed topline from his long travels. His boyish looks have become decidedly more adolescent; while he still looks younger than his true age, the discrepancy is diminishing. “Where to?” Kipling asks aloud to no one in particular. He halts, not grasping how the action contradicts his stated intention of going anywhere, and strares intently at the snow. Grinning broadly, he contorts his neck and drags his brassy horn through the fluff, drawing meaningless squiggles. Occasionally, he steps back to admire his work and giggle happily at his creations. Ah, yes. This is how a year disappeared. |
OOC: Open! But also @Tiamat @Imonada @Ki'irha @Rikyn
