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06-16-2015, 05:29 PM
Irritated and vexed, he thought perhaps to move on from the Steppe, down into the throes and throngs of another world, another time, another place – maybe where clues of his friends’ disappearances lanced and laced quarters, shelters, and sanctuaries. But he grew ever more listless and indolent, piecing together fragments and notions with nothing else to settle amongst their hollow shells. A few more rocks were kicked, and his scrutinizing gaze watched them leap and bound off of several ice formations, before becoming lost in the snow. Lost – were his companions much the same way? Had they wandered down other paths, other trails, traversing lonesome, haunting, poignant valleys without anyone to show them the way home? He fettered over the sentiments, frowning at the chilling gales and the hallowed contortions of his nearby home, Orsino silent as the grave, giving naught in return. The only lapse in complete withdrawal was the kitsune’s tiny prick of sensation driven over the colt’s – a warning, a sign, an alarm – at another’s approach, and the child quickly screwed his features into an onset of calm, of equanimity, of tranquility, seeking out an appropriate mask. But with the echoing words, he knew he’d been found out. An air of disappointment, of dread, of shame morphed between his bones and willowy muscles, the junctures of a frame not quite matured; he thought to force his head hellbound and be given the stern lecture he deserved (to cease his moping, to stop his brooding, when he was one of the entitled, one of the privileged). Instead, because he was entirely too bold, too audacious, too much like his father, he raised his crown to stare at the individual roaming the same frosty realm as he, examining, studying, using every wile and every talent he had at his disposal to peruse and inquire through the depths of his brief, childish knowledge. The other was older, maybe not by much, still regal, still confident, still lacquered in ability and prowess. In regard, Erebos thrust his chest out, puffing like a great monster, like an unleashed titan, jutting his chin in a princely fashion, clawing at the centuries of assurance, poise, and mettle curling along his bloodline. The elder’s eyes, however, the scion couldn’t emulate – for they were like fire, like embers, like coals soaked in a harsh, unrelenting blaze – and he was mesmerized by their mystique, by their grandeur, by their powerful adornments. They flew from his tassels, from his mane, from his tail, as if he’d been borne from the grand remnants (and how nice it would have been, to be truly made by infernos), that the unsung cluster of potential and acrimony stirred greatly within the boy’s own convictions. Could he reign like that someday – proud, strong, wielding all the confidence in the world, all the decadence crooning and murmuring in his ears? Could he have that power too? (How?, Orsino asked through their connection, bobbing a careful beat to the webs forming in the cluster of their membranes, tying and lacing and weaving beautiful, wicked arts; a sensation of abominations, of obliterations, of intricate, nefarious masterpieces.) His acrid reasons, his fleeting memories, seemed so juvenile then. But he tilted his head a mere fraction, attempted to appear as though his stomach was not sour, as though his world hadn’t tilted every time a bond was crushed, smothered, and obliterated; and he wondered, vaguely, if this stag had musing, had sagacity, for how to overcome the rancorous thorns plaguing his youthful mind. “My friends are gone.” The answer was smooth, embedded in truth, seeking out all the absolutions, all the advice, that another could give. What does one do when those they revered suddenly fled without them? And was it stupid to continue dreaming of them? Was it silly to remain in the past? OOC;; TAG;; @[Cathun] |
- table by Niki -
