the Rift


[OPEN] Moonlit gates bathed in spring cold

Carnesîr Posts: 60
Hidden Account atk: 5.5 | def: 9.5 | dam: 5
Stallion :: Unicorn :: 15.2 :: 3 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE
wanda
#6
He lets words flicker through his mind, watching the pages of his mental dictionary fly by his gentle fingertips; adjectives, nouns, verbs and prepositions. Words that cannot be translated into this clumsy language of this land, singular words that describe lengthy sentences of mood and emotion. The feeling of an uncomfortable conversation, the chilling sensation of someone watching you but not being there, and the need to walk away but remaining firmly implanted in the soil- or if there are words for these feelings that cloud his head and rest in his breast, he does not know them.

For that, he is angry. No longer can he paint the pictures with his lilting songs, he cannot draw and create and make a simple sound into a vision of brilliant colors and beauty. This particular ability of his, his one greatest (perhaps only) pride, was stolen from him, carried off into the night by vagabonds of another language. He hated it, absolutely and whole-heartedly.

Is it possible for simple words to carry the same weight as an illustrative, peculiar one?

It is, Carnesîr soon realizes, for the grim-faced warrior with battered skin and cold blue eyes proves it. I kill by touch. "Are you a god?" He wonders outloud in quiet answer, eyes of dark soil meandering up the black crown on the stallion's forehead. There is a something glittering in his eyes, hard little somethings that cannot be explained. "Why?"

Next, it is the girl who led him here who answers, voice fluid, reminding him of the rain, always. But the grullo sighs, shaking his head slowly, wagging his muzzle. "Not just home." He corrects her, tone neutral. "I want to immortalize. Make those, like you," For a moment he fumbles, searching for the words that evade him, slipping around his brain as if they don't want to live and dance in the air between the three of them. "Live on, for ever, through memory. Story, song, legend."

Slowly his passion for Huyana is forgotten as he finds himself fascinated by this dead-faced warrior.

"How do you live, when around you all die?"

And then;

"Will I die?"


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RE: Moonlit gates bathed in spring cold - by Carnesîr - 09-28-2013, 07:10 PM

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