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12-08-2016, 07:26 AM
But somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
[ Go read this bc feels still murder me each time and it's relevant! ]
He hadn't gone back here.
Even if his life had depended on it, he wouldn't have gone back here, among tall spires of green and heartache.
It had been Frostfall then. It was Frostfall now.
Two years ago. Two whole years. His ears flicked back in the gentle snowfall; he was a ghost among ghosts, watching it replay in his memory. Aviya, broken on the ground. d'Artagnan, broken in his heart.
And Mauja, there in the mess, his hooves now where they had been then, digging into the space before Aviya's grave. It felt irreverent to step where she had lain, as if he would desecrate the flimsy sanctity of the place. It only held bitter memories of death and loss to him, but something kept him from tarnishing that last memory of what had been his life for so long. She and Snö had been the future—the scions of the world they had wanted to forge in the flames of war and the blood of their enemies, but instead—they had died in a war of Gods, on foreign shores.
They had lain down their lives for the greed of others, and left their fathers to reap their bitter harvest, both mothers long since gone. Mauja ground his teeth together. How had it come to this?
His breath pooled in the cold air, and clouds circled the sun.
Two years. Two years.
It seemed so impossibly long, and Mauja closed his eyes. Her bones had sunken into the earth, and her father was long since lost; in the empty spaces of his heart their names still echoed. There was nothing for him here but bitterness and pain.
There was nothing for him here but helpless fury, rage at those divine beings who had pulled back the curtains on other, sick worlds and brought their vengeful Gods back with them. Had they ever apologized, for what they had caused? For their inability to turn back the tide of the inevitable, when death settles so deep in the bones that even Gods are rendered helpless?
Mauja had asked her about why she had killed so many, when Psyche was taken from him. She hadn't responded.
Had they even explained why they had done, this?
His dark muzzle reached out to touch one of the bamboo stalks. It felt solid and foreign.
This was not the Helovia that had been bled dry in wars ages past. This was not the Helovia he had dreamed of, fought for, and always returned to. This was something other, a blight paid for in the blood of their own children, and their children's mothers and fathers.
Snö and Aviya weren't the only ones who had died.
And not a single word of consolation.
Ears flat to his neck and eyes burning with unshed tears, Mauja bit the bamboo stem.
[ Open for anyone. ^^ ]
He hadn't gone back here.
Even if his life had depended on it, he wouldn't have gone back here, among tall spires of green and heartache.
It had been Frostfall then. It was Frostfall now.
Two years ago. Two whole years. His ears flicked back in the gentle snowfall; he was a ghost among ghosts, watching it replay in his memory. Aviya, broken on the ground. d'Artagnan, broken in his heart.
And Mauja, there in the mess, his hooves now where they had been then, digging into the space before Aviya's grave. It felt irreverent to step where she had lain, as if he would desecrate the flimsy sanctity of the place. It only held bitter memories of death and loss to him, but something kept him from tarnishing that last memory of what had been his life for so long. She and Snö had been the future—the scions of the world they had wanted to forge in the flames of war and the blood of their enemies, but instead—they had died in a war of Gods, on foreign shores.
They had lain down their lives for the greed of others, and left their fathers to reap their bitter harvest, both mothers long since gone. Mauja ground his teeth together. How had it come to this?
His breath pooled in the cold air, and clouds circled the sun.
Two years. Two years.
It seemed so impossibly long, and Mauja closed his eyes. Her bones had sunken into the earth, and her father was long since lost; in the empty spaces of his heart their names still echoed. There was nothing for him here but bitterness and pain.
There was nothing for him here but helpless fury, rage at those divine beings who had pulled back the curtains on other, sick worlds and brought their vengeful Gods back with them. Had they ever apologized, for what they had caused? For their inability to turn back the tide of the inevitable, when death settles so deep in the bones that even Gods are rendered helpless?
Mauja had asked her about why she had killed so many, when Psyche was taken from him. She hadn't responded.
Had they even explained why they had done, this?
His dark muzzle reached out to touch one of the bamboo stalks. It felt solid and foreign.
This was not the Helovia that had been bled dry in wars ages past. This was not the Helovia he had dreamed of, fought for, and always returned to. This was something other, a blight paid for in the blood of their own children, and their children's mothers and fathers.
Snö and Aviya weren't the only ones who had died.
And not a single word of consolation.
Ears flat to his neck and eyes burning with unshed tears, Mauja bit the bamboo stem.
[ Open for anyone. ^^ ]
I seen the sun comin' up at the funeral at dawn
the long broken arm of human law
the long broken arm of human law
