.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-24-2015, 04:22 AM
och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen
då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,
[ Being vague about SWP damage. YES BRIT THREAD GO <3 ]
If there was one thing Mauja could relate to in all that went through Kaj's mind and heart, it was the pain of losing the Edge—and the ways you blamed yourself for it, second-guessing all you'd done. Could he have done more to prevent the Qian from rallying Helovia against him? Could he have done more to prepare his herd for battle? Could he have fought more; better? It had haunted him to the frozen north, it had haunted him as he passed into different dimensions and time streams, and it had haunted him under the borealis of the Basin.
But at some point the wounds in your heart grow old, and scabbed over. And maybe, if you're lucky, they'll eventually turn into scars.
It wasn't until Kahlua had taken him into the herd, after Psyche's death, that the pain had begun again. And now—there was no pain, only confusion, lingering resentment towards himself and the world, a dim, half-defined quest.
He felt like a ghost straying through the mist and the trees, white tendrils reaching out to stroke him, hold him, and let him go, swirling faintly with his passing. "Ghost," he murmured to himself, for no real reason, half-healed scabs in neat lines drawn from his right shoulder down his chest. His steps were shorter for it, some old, rusty red visible around the scabbed edges where movement had torn it open again. Injuries in flexible areas were a right bitch, but at least it didn't hurt anymore—well, no more than any healing wound, throbbing and itching deep within.
A call shattered the fragile peace of the Edge, a wordless cry of summons from a stranger's throat. Mauja's flowing motion didn't cease, merely grew slower, and his black-rimmed ears swirled atop his head. It was not someone he knew by sound, or sight, and angling down on silent wings Irma dived towards the near-intruder. Someone who knew enough of scents and borders to not trespass, but clearly wanting to get within, and as she fell from divine heights her pale blue eyes sharpened their focus, falling upon someone gold—
Kaj, his mind whispered, remembering standing at the back of a meeting as a triumvirate spoke of things he no longer remembered. Kaj, Archibald, Kahlua—Kaj, who had berated Kahlua for bearing the Earth God's child, and earned the ire of Mauja for that.
Kaj, a complete, utter stranger in the map of his heart—Kaj, judged only through the words and tears of another. It was the kind of loyalty he despised, and with a war being waged in his heart he did his best to wipe Kaj's filthy slate clean. What use are old scars and old grievances, anyway, when all hopes and dreams have been dashed; fled? The world was a dark enough place already. Mauja didn't have to make it darker.
He slipped out of the fog on the borders, slipped out of the embrace of the moon, a white specter with eyes of winter. Regal, simply by virtue of his blood. Blue gaze considered the other stallion in silence as he stopped on his side of the border, an invisible line drawn between their hearts. Shards of glass lay broken and crumpled on the ground, glittering like the tips of buried secrets. Slowly, Mauja's great white head tilted, long forelock sliding off the side of his face, and something—something like sunlight on the cold, sharp crust of snow—glittered deep in his eyes. "Kaj," he said, light voice gentle. This was the first time he spoke to the golden man. "I am beginning to suspect I am either overworked or lazy, as all my planned trips to speak with the rulers of other realms fall short when they beat me to it." A small, lopsided grin teased its way onto his black muzzle, an elegant curve of his lips. "What brings you here?" There was no accusation in his voice, only open curiosity, a kind of honesty matched by the attention of his ears—a desire to blot out the border-line carved between them, erase the political power of their current stance, beggar and king except they were both kings, just that here, only one of them was a king (—Queen).
Mauja did not believe in ruling—he believed in guiding.
[ Torleik is absent so no need to wait for him, or others. xP @Kaj ]
If there was one thing Mauja could relate to in all that went through Kaj's mind and heart, it was the pain of losing the Edge—and the ways you blamed yourself for it, second-guessing all you'd done. Could he have done more to prevent the Qian from rallying Helovia against him? Could he have done more to prepare his herd for battle? Could he have fought more; better? It had haunted him to the frozen north, it had haunted him as he passed into different dimensions and time streams, and it had haunted him under the borealis of the Basin.
But at some point the wounds in your heart grow old, and scabbed over. And maybe, if you're lucky, they'll eventually turn into scars.
It wasn't until Kahlua had taken him into the herd, after Psyche's death, that the pain had begun again. And now—there was no pain, only confusion, lingering resentment towards himself and the world, a dim, half-defined quest.
He felt like a ghost straying through the mist and the trees, white tendrils reaching out to stroke him, hold him, and let him go, swirling faintly with his passing. "Ghost," he murmured to himself, for no real reason, half-healed scabs in neat lines drawn from his right shoulder down his chest. His steps were shorter for it, some old, rusty red visible around the scabbed edges where movement had torn it open again. Injuries in flexible areas were a right bitch, but at least it didn't hurt anymore—well, no more than any healing wound, throbbing and itching deep within.
A call shattered the fragile peace of the Edge, a wordless cry of summons from a stranger's throat. Mauja's flowing motion didn't cease, merely grew slower, and his black-rimmed ears swirled atop his head. It was not someone he knew by sound, or sight, and angling down on silent wings Irma dived towards the near-intruder. Someone who knew enough of scents and borders to not trespass, but clearly wanting to get within, and as she fell from divine heights her pale blue eyes sharpened their focus, falling upon someone gold—
Kaj, his mind whispered, remembering standing at the back of a meeting as a triumvirate spoke of things he no longer remembered. Kaj, Archibald, Kahlua—Kaj, who had berated Kahlua for bearing the Earth God's child, and earned the ire of Mauja for that.
Kaj, a complete, utter stranger in the map of his heart—Kaj, judged only through the words and tears of another. It was the kind of loyalty he despised, and with a war being waged in his heart he did his best to wipe Kaj's filthy slate clean. What use are old scars and old grievances, anyway, when all hopes and dreams have been dashed; fled? The world was a dark enough place already. Mauja didn't have to make it darker.
He slipped out of the fog on the borders, slipped out of the embrace of the moon, a white specter with eyes of winter. Regal, simply by virtue of his blood. Blue gaze considered the other stallion in silence as he stopped on his side of the border, an invisible line drawn between their hearts. Shards of glass lay broken and crumpled on the ground, glittering like the tips of buried secrets. Slowly, Mauja's great white head tilted, long forelock sliding off the side of his face, and something—something like sunlight on the cold, sharp crust of snow—glittered deep in his eyes. "Kaj," he said, light voice gentle. This was the first time he spoke to the golden man. "I am beginning to suspect I am either overworked or lazy, as all my planned trips to speak with the rulers of other realms fall short when they beat me to it." A small, lopsided grin teased its way onto his black muzzle, an elegant curve of his lips. "What brings you here?" There was no accusation in his voice, only open curiosity, a kind of honesty matched by the attention of his ears—a desire to blot out the border-line carved between them, erase the political power of their current stance, beggar and king except they were both kings, just that here, only one of them was a king (—Queen).
Mauja did not believe in ruling—he believed in guiding.
[ Torleik is absent so no need to wait for him, or others. xP @Kaj ]
du lät exakt som ismael.
