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05-10-2014, 01:10 PM
en natt så kall och månen den var klar
Once, many years ago, he'd descended from the fire-ruined Edge to swim into the ocean and the sunset, to witness the glory of the God who had ruined his home.
He couldn't recall swimming since. He'd played in the shallows with Loudmouth and Moron, tackling the latter so he fell on his ass, but that had been a long time too.
He hadn't seen them since the darkness, since before Diego took ill and he left Helovia again. Were they fine? He'd promised himself to protect Loudmouth, and look what a good job he'd done out of that! He didn't even know where she was, or if she was still alive, and last time he'd seen her she'd been quite.. well, he didn't know what word to use. Devastated? Not really. Exhausted, drawn? Maybe. Who wouldn't be, after spending time up on the shadowy surface, with all those rotting bodies snapping after you?
He didn't make it to the ocean before sunset. Darkness claimed the world, lit by a round silver moon. It bled the colors from the land, illuminated his skin, and made it harder to judge distance. But, it was still beautiful, the sterling ripples upon the ocean's sway, and the solid edges of his moon-shadow. His blaze glowed, the thin stripe a faint veil of light between him and the world. It wasn't exactly pleasant.
But the moon lit more than just Mauja. A figure stood by the beach, her pale body silhouetted against the navy star-studded sky; wings hung loosely by her side, and not even the Moon could steal the gold from her dappled coat. Half a year or so had passed since their last meeting—he knew her by the gold, by the markings on her cheek, by, well, memory. And it wasn't an entirely pleasant memory. It had almost been like talking to a younger, less deranged Delinne—had she grown up into a witch, turned sour by the ways of life, or had she become saner? He didn't know which he'd prefer. Someone to take out his helpless, frustrated anger on, or someone who could help him hold his fragile mind together?
With his owls in their customary order on his back—Irma, still bigger than Diego, sitting on his withers, and Diego further down his spine—he kept on his path. It led straight to the sea, not straight to her, but close by enough. He watcher her as he went, ambling along, frosted hooves leaving a trail of shimmering blue before it sank into the dark sand—the very same sand that clung to her side, the fine particles picked out by the moon's precise, sharp light.
"Kill," he said, when he was close enough. His cryptic eyes were made silver by the monochromatic light. "Aurelia. I thought you were aquaphobic?" And yet, it seemed that she had been swimming tonight.
Maybe she'd scored all the victories Mauja had never been able to. Maybe, as with everything, she was actually the stronger of the two.
He couldn't recall swimming since. He'd played in the shallows with Loudmouth and Moron, tackling the latter so he fell on his ass, but that had been a long time too.
He hadn't seen them since the darkness, since before Diego took ill and he left Helovia again. Were they fine? He'd promised himself to protect Loudmouth, and look what a good job he'd done out of that! He didn't even know where she was, or if she was still alive, and last time he'd seen her she'd been quite.. well, he didn't know what word to use. Devastated? Not really. Exhausted, drawn? Maybe. Who wouldn't be, after spending time up on the shadowy surface, with all those rotting bodies snapping after you?
He didn't make it to the ocean before sunset. Darkness claimed the world, lit by a round silver moon. It bled the colors from the land, illuminated his skin, and made it harder to judge distance. But, it was still beautiful, the sterling ripples upon the ocean's sway, and the solid edges of his moon-shadow. His blaze glowed, the thin stripe a faint veil of light between him and the world. It wasn't exactly pleasant.
But the moon lit more than just Mauja. A figure stood by the beach, her pale body silhouetted against the navy star-studded sky; wings hung loosely by her side, and not even the Moon could steal the gold from her dappled coat. Half a year or so had passed since their last meeting—he knew her by the gold, by the markings on her cheek, by, well, memory. And it wasn't an entirely pleasant memory. It had almost been like talking to a younger, less deranged Delinne—had she grown up into a witch, turned sour by the ways of life, or had she become saner? He didn't know which he'd prefer. Someone to take out his helpless, frustrated anger on, or someone who could help him hold his fragile mind together?
With his owls in their customary order on his back—Irma, still bigger than Diego, sitting on his withers, and Diego further down his spine—he kept on his path. It led straight to the sea, not straight to her, but close by enough. He watcher her as he went, ambling along, frosted hooves leaving a trail of shimmering blue before it sank into the dark sand—the very same sand that clung to her side, the fine particles picked out by the moon's precise, sharp light.
"Kill," he said, when he was close enough. His cryptic eyes were made silver by the monochromatic light. "Aurelia. I thought you were aquaphobic?" And yet, it seemed that she had been swimming tonight.
Maybe she'd scored all the victories Mauja had never been able to. Maybe, as with everything, she was actually the stronger of the two.
Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål
