Rikyn the Puppeteer Posts: 549
| Aurora Basin Lord atk: 7.5 | def: 11.5 | dam: 4.5 |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 4 HP: 70 | Buff: SWIFT |
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Duir :: Royal Cerndyr :: Earth Spirit
Bunnie |
sweet bitter words, unlike nothing I have heard:
A dry tendril of sand whisks across the desert, serpentine and wild. There is something in its erratic course that makes my heart feel deep and heavy, as if one of the caverns in the Heart had miraculously replaced the real one; I’ve felt this way often. It’s become almost comforting, the solitary silence, the deep depth of yearning and sorrow that I have no name for, the words more easily described with images. Images of wind roused dust, swirling madly across a red sea of sand, or rain pressing down into the soft edges of an exposed hillside, carrying chunks of the earth away with it, seem almost too pristine a portrait of life to not admire, even if they carry with them this feeling.
"If you could predict its course, would you?" I ask my buck, arriving alongside me. His horns, once small nubs, are now definite protrusions, with several prongs attempting to evolve beyond their rounded, growing state. The same wind that chases (or carries, I am not sure which) the sand across the world brings the smell of the vines growing from the base of those horns to my nose, a scent which I am loathe to admit is comforting. He meets my eyes as I breathe deeply this passing peace, the gold flecks within the emerald depths glinting with thought as he ponders the question. Glancing out at the whirling dust, he looks back at me, nodding no.
I smile, feeling that heavy blanket of sensation ease ever so slightly at sharing this opinion with Duir. More often than not, we agree, unless the question is whether or not to run to or from danger.
"Me either," I admit aloud, wondering when the bond of thought will cement between us; I feel crazy having a one conversation with a deer. He often feels frustrated at being left with only implied emotional states and crude gestures.
"It would be less beautiful that way," I continue, glancing down to Duir’s nod of approval, both of us looking back out at the desert with soft, sad smiles, waiting for the wind to die, and the dancing sand with it. Even when the glittering cloud descends upon the backs of its brethren, however, the same deep, beautiful sorrow remains for some while, beginning to fade the longer the Sun beats down on my dark coat without any alluring distractions.
I guess discomfort due to physical elements is better than the emotional hurt I’m shoveling memories of dust devils and deer over top of. The buck, a caring sort of fellow, has spent the past week trying to help me deal with my hurt feelings, and jilted ego. It’s mostly got him horribly emotional conversations or swift kicks, sometimes both, but, today, for the first time since Uncle Deimos attacked me, I’ve managed to find something else. Sure, its moderately depressing, and certainly less exciting than our usual endeavors, but it’s better than shouting or glaring at my friend, after all.
As if announced by my thoughts of him, Duir’s consciousness becomes evident in my own; thirst and being hot are prevalent, despite a desire of some sort (which I assume is to linger, in hopes another dusty wind arrives). Being the older of the pair, and attempting (often failing) to be responsible, I nudge his shoulder with a cocoa rimmed nose.
"Let’s start back toward the Rotunda," I say, having chosen the odd structure to be my base of operations while I figured my life out. Eager to be in the shade, the nod I’m returned is solid and swift, and together we set off toward cooler realms.
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sing along, mockingbird; you don't affect me.
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Image by TheArtlex@DA
@Erthe
Wishlist - Plots
Force/violence is allowed to be used on Rikyn permitted it does not permanently maim or kill him (PM me!).
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