:: MURDER IN HELOVIA :: CONCLUSION

the Rift

:: MURDER IN HELOVIA :: CONCLUSION

Ascended Helovian

Midas the Gallant Posts: 1,164

Deceased

Stallion :: Pegasus :: 14.3 hh :: Immortal :: Soul is 7 (FF) Buff: HUNTER

Fina :: Common Zephyr :: Phoenix & Wakiya & Neve :: Common Zephyr :: Arctic Angel

01-24-2015, 10:35 PM

Midas

Just when life had begun to return to some semblance of normal.

During a weekly patrol of territory adjacent to the sea, I heard a sound like dry thunder. Witnessed our sky island tumble, crumble and crack. Like a mighty lion brought low, the great green beast fell to Heloiva. No longer hanging in the sky with its glorious waterfalls and peaceful fields. My heart sank somewhere below. Yar, such a dread filled this body, a mix of awestruck disbelief. There is another great roar. Afterward, tis silent.

Sickening silence.
____

I flew fast, tirelessly racing to the valley where a strong power was pulling upon my soul. Another gathering; the Gods had come again. Upon arrival there is a mass of bodies talking, screaming. I land hard, purposely keeping a wary sway toward the rear. In their mess my eyes catch a glimpse of a pale painted body. Cera, his voice is one I couldn't recognize...even though tis rising above the torrent.

Aimed at Earth.

Bitter, hateful words. These ears catch the last few sentences clearly; they flash thoughtlessly as the lash of a whip did. "Took my father, killed my brother." What did he mean by this? I wouldn't get to stand and ponder, this crowd began to stir; demanding to be paid in blood. Tis then that I notice a great bay mass, his flaming wings tucked and muscled shoulders bowed low. My brother is at the mercy of yon lords. Why?

Overwhelmed and confused.

I turn to a nearby fellow, posing a quiet question for his ears alone.

Hototo dead.

Guacho the murderer.

Moon to blame.

I say nothing. Do nothing. There is no body to grieve over and my place wasn't near Ktulu or Cera. This dark crown falls forward, weighted with private sorrow. Lids shut themselves to drown out their hateful remarks and grief driven shouts. I envision Hototo. Healthy and young, gliding awkwardly down the slope of Thistle mound. His bright eyes shining with laughter and love. I see him grown. Muscled legs no longer gangly, mature feathers carry the Earthsinger high above us all; his gentle song a beautiful reminder that there was hope. A dry sob catches in the tightened fold of my throat.