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03-05-2015, 12:32 PM
"Why are any of us here?"
His voice answers the girl from within the mists, but he soon materializes beside her. He doesn't stand so close as to frighten her, only close enough that she can make out his features through the swirling fog that inhabits their home. He is not normally one to intrude upon private reflections, but something about the girl intrigues him - and not just the way the earth clings to her limbs, climbing ever higher as though trying to make her into a statue.
She would make a lovely piece of art, an immobile marble guardian placed precariously over the waves below their cliffs; but he doubts that this is why she has come, doubts that she hopes her life to be dashed away so easily. She is too young to want her memory carved into stone and her breath snuffed out, a candle blown cold too early. No, the melancholy that usually accompanies such musings seems oddly lacking, and it is perhaps this that intrigues him more than her strange magic or her unknown lineage.
"Where I come from, our myths say that we are all created with a purpose, and once we have found it and completed it, we will be free to ascend to Heaven, where our gods will smile on us," he adds, flexing his wings slightly to settle the feathers against the salty breeze. His mane flutters in the wind, caressing his cheek and covering one violet eye; through the other, he watches the girl sedately and almost expectantly. Who is she to have such a mature question at so young an age? Why does she stand alone on the cliffs, watching the waves crash below? Should she not be playing with her friends, following her mother, learning from her father?
Or is she alone, as he was once alone?
"more words."
His voice answers the girl from within the mists, but he soon materializes beside her. He doesn't stand so close as to frighten her, only close enough that she can make out his features through the swirling fog that inhabits their home. He is not normally one to intrude upon private reflections, but something about the girl intrigues him - and not just the way the earth clings to her limbs, climbing ever higher as though trying to make her into a statue.
She would make a lovely piece of art, an immobile marble guardian placed precariously over the waves below their cliffs; but he doubts that this is why she has come, doubts that she hopes her life to be dashed away so easily. She is too young to want her memory carved into stone and her breath snuffed out, a candle blown cold too early. No, the melancholy that usually accompanies such musings seems oddly lacking, and it is perhaps this that intrigues him more than her strange magic or her unknown lineage.
"Where I come from, our myths say that we are all created with a purpose, and once we have found it and completed it, we will be free to ascend to Heaven, where our gods will smile on us," he adds, flexing his wings slightly to settle the feathers against the salty breeze. His mane flutters in the wind, caressing his cheek and covering one violet eye; through the other, he watches the girl sedately and almost expectantly. Who is she to have such a mature question at so young an age? Why does she stand alone on the cliffs, watching the waves crash below? Should she not be playing with her friends, following her mother, learning from her father?
Or is she alone, as he was once alone?
"more words."
Quilyan
counting on the night for a beautiful day;
subtlepatterns.com | kaydeniro & larfsalot @ deviantart
Please tag Quilyan in all replies.
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
