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06-02-2016, 12:05 AM
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Though there was stillness among them, reminiscent of the lost son that forever still would remain, the world was not so eager to halt. Her world perhaps, but her's was like a grain of sand upon the shore, significant in its own right, but lost amid the vastness of the beach. So the world kept moving, noticed there in the gentle snow fall that collected in the groove of his back and the slope of his horns, but not on her hut, and not on the grave. A flick of his ear disturbed some of the collected frost. It was his only response for a long while as he stood, a monolith of patience and disappointment, listening to what was surely the weakest argument she had ever given. He wondered quietly to himself why it was in this that she seemed so incapable of understanding. She had shown more care and thought to some of his ruined crystals than it seemed she did this babe, and for that, he felt worn. How big was her world? Big enough to weigh on him. He paid heed to both the beach and every grain as God of the Earth, but he took special notice of her speck now in this moment, as a father. "It was not yours!" his voice broke suddenly like a boulder breaking from a cliff side, imposing and dangerous - rare. In response the earth shivered with his baritone, a wild groan of displeasure from substance better left to sit in antiquated silence and rest. The hard edges of his flinty stare flashed in the moderate light as his head turned more towards her, abandoning the sight line towards the mound which lacked snow. The verdant gaze settled on her with an enormity of disappointment. Yet the power of a falling stone is mighty, but brief. Water rushed on with more reliability, but his was not the sea where the Moon pulled the tides into fervor; the God of the Earth was the careful stream and the steady pond as much as he was the fallen rock. Quiet descended on him, which only seemed to punctuate the roar. "What in this world has given you the notion that life is not sloppy?" he asked her honestly, a sigh, rugged with age and dust, heaving into a visible cloud. "Life is a design to some extent, but its beauty is in its free will, in the way it tumbles and races beyond control, surprising with all its various turns and decisions." She seemed so protective of the flora and the fauna, so why did she fail to prize her own flesh and blood? Lies she had said, its echo in his ears setting his 'brow to furrow with lack of understanding. Her mind was available, but he was much more curious about her heart so did not peer into something when it was already visible before him. No matter the motivations, it was there before them, and he'd have her evaluate the aftermath more appropriately than whatever selfish reasons drove her into it. "Better to let your seedling grow and watch it reach for the heavens like all the rest, to let it fall or falter of its own accord, than to never give it the chance to try. If all the seedlings were scuffed underhoof for fear, then a barren world we would have indeed. Gently he shook his head, and the motion carried on into his beard and across his nape, loosing water droplets and particulate that hadn't even been apparent. When he settled, the lines in his features seemed to have deepened, but neither with rage nor defeat, just a raw grief that was palpable in the gray wash of the world that ought to be blossoming like her seedling, but wasn't. "My child, no life is yours but your own. You are a living egg, a mother, both for your own children and all the lives of those around you, as they are mine. Ours is the duty to protect, not decide the roles to be played nor govern over the worth of what lives. Her tears did little to persuade him, though he understood their importance. In this moment he could not go to her as he ought to, not when the corpse dwelled so near and fresh. Not when her only explanation was a reed flapping its noise in the wind. |
