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Slå mig hårt i ansiktet så får jag känna att jag lever
The sea.
Cathun has an interesting relationship with the element of water. Born as a ball of fire, literally, the natural assumption might be the boy hates water. The element standing exactly opposite his own, to the eyes of many, once to his own perception as well. Still, he does not hate water; envy might be a more apt description of his emotion toward it.
Underneath the obvious image of fire and water, the elements themselves shared many characteristics. Where water had the reputation of being a soothing force, Cathun knew the potential for raging storms, tsunamis, and violent death at the hands of the sea. Fire, in comparison, rarely became remembered as anything other than destruction. The element had a voracity unmatched by water, seeking to consume all. Living within the Dragon's Throat had taught the boy, much to his own distaste (for it would be easier to hate the base element of his nature), that fire could be the basis for life. The sun above gleaming brightly as a constant reminder here. While the world had began to prepare for the slumber of winter, the Dragon's Throat remained stubbornly warm in the embrace of the Sun. The two elements held other similarities; their fluidity in appearance, the hypnotic properties that left you staring at them intensely. The unpredictable movement, the dance they held naturally.
Opposite sides of the same coin.
Still, to the unknowing eye, Cathun appears out of place. After the last of his beads broke during the audience with the God of the Spark, his body had erupted in waves of flame. The humanity of his flesh stripped away, leaving only a gleaming beacon of fire shaped roughly that as his own. Tendrils of flame licked at his neck, appearing much like a burning version of his old twisted mane, billowing violently in the salty air. Upon the ephemeral neck rested the golden necklace which previously contained his curse. A burning man walks the shore line, steam rising from the sands as the water rises in protest.
This is not a happy union of the two elements, which is mirrored in the dejected and slightly annoyed expression formed in his mesmerizing visage of fire.
He sees her from quite some distance, and though his mood is sour on this day at the beach, chooses to plod easily over in her direction. The instructions of the God of the Spark were clear; he needed to sympathize with others in this world. He needed to, if you wanted to live. That desperation, that driving force both sullies his spirit and drives it forward.
Cathun would not have the suffering of his mother be for nothing. The risk his father took to rescue him would not be in vain. He would live.
He had to.
As he approaches, he is cautious to remain distant enough from the mare that the sparkling embers floating from his figure do not find their way to her flesh. "Cathun," he offers with forced interest. This mare, painted brown with small dots of white speckling her frame like an odd night sky, did not appear familiar to him. He had been gone a long while.
"Do you eat fish?" his voice is genuinely incredulous, eyes drifting down to see the carcasses of fish near her hooves, though they appeared to have been pushed slightly away. Cathun had never met an equine who ate meat of any kind.
""
ooc -- Sorry if it's a little bumpy for a while! Trying to hone in on his character still.
Cathun has an interesting relationship with the element of water. Born as a ball of fire, literally, the natural assumption might be the boy hates water. The element standing exactly opposite his own, to the eyes of many, once to his own perception as well. Still, he does not hate water; envy might be a more apt description of his emotion toward it.
Underneath the obvious image of fire and water, the elements themselves shared many characteristics. Where water had the reputation of being a soothing force, Cathun knew the potential for raging storms, tsunamis, and violent death at the hands of the sea. Fire, in comparison, rarely became remembered as anything other than destruction. The element had a voracity unmatched by water, seeking to consume all. Living within the Dragon's Throat had taught the boy, much to his own distaste (for it would be easier to hate the base element of his nature), that fire could be the basis for life. The sun above gleaming brightly as a constant reminder here. While the world had began to prepare for the slumber of winter, the Dragon's Throat remained stubbornly warm in the embrace of the Sun. The two elements held other similarities; their fluidity in appearance, the hypnotic properties that left you staring at them intensely. The unpredictable movement, the dance they held naturally.
Opposite sides of the same coin.
Still, to the unknowing eye, Cathun appears out of place. After the last of his beads broke during the audience with the God of the Spark, his body had erupted in waves of flame. The humanity of his flesh stripped away, leaving only a gleaming beacon of fire shaped roughly that as his own. Tendrils of flame licked at his neck, appearing much like a burning version of his old twisted mane, billowing violently in the salty air. Upon the ephemeral neck rested the golden necklace which previously contained his curse. A burning man walks the shore line, steam rising from the sands as the water rises in protest.
This is not a happy union of the two elements, which is mirrored in the dejected and slightly annoyed expression formed in his mesmerizing visage of fire.
He sees her from quite some distance, and though his mood is sour on this day at the beach, chooses to plod easily over in her direction. The instructions of the God of the Spark were clear; he needed to sympathize with others in this world. He needed to, if you wanted to live. That desperation, that driving force both sullies his spirit and drives it forward.
Cathun would not have the suffering of his mother be for nothing. The risk his father took to rescue him would not be in vain. He would live.
He had to.
As he approaches, he is cautious to remain distant enough from the mare that the sparkling embers floating from his figure do not find their way to her flesh. "Cathun," he offers with forced interest. This mare, painted brown with small dots of white speckling her frame like an odd night sky, did not appear familiar to him. He had been gone a long while.
"Do you eat fish?" his voice is genuinely incredulous, eyes drifting down to see the carcasses of fish near her hooves, though they appeared to have been pushed slightly away. Cathun had never met an equine who ate meat of any kind.
""
ooc -- Sorry if it's a little bumpy for a while! Trying to hone in on his character still.
@Najya
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