All my life I’ve been searching for something

They were left quickly – everything aligned, in accordance, and the General nodded his head to both of the vanishing mares – before settling his eyes back upon the Mountain that Knew, watching her carefully, but not delving, not picking apart, the framework of enigmas surrounding her. He maneuvered forward, a moving blade, all motion and ease, all power and prestige, head noble and high, raised because he was born to this mountainside and meant to escort more legions of legends, queens, kings, inside its depths, only looking back when he noticed she wasn’t following. Her inquiry ceased his intentions abruptly, brow arched as she only called him by rank, gaze catching the dance of dragons, Orsino following the same lines of leathery wings and predatory eyes, as they inched closer and closer to the sentinels’ empty sockets. “No,” he proffered, smile flickering for just an instant, reminded again of dead things, of broken, withered objects, of how prosperity decayed in the glimpse of a lifetime. His lips became drawn into a simple, almost saddened line, not yearning to explain the death of so many items, artifacts, and people around their cold region, not wishing to dive into how their hearts were not all made of ice, that sometimes all he ever did was mourn. “It won’t harm them,” the prince remarked quietly, marching beneath the sacred, hollow stare of the great giants, remembering when he was a boy and how they’d seemed so massive, so depraved, so wicked and awe-inspiring, how the Engineer had tinkered on them day by day so they worked to stop the nefarious cretins hovering at their borders. Now, all they had was each other – real, moving guardians, capable of weakness, of faults, of flaws, of cracks in the schism.
 
Erebos breathed again, tried to maintain that calm, careful, composed, and charismatic air, waiting for her to move under their domineering shadow too, then riveting his stare across the vast valley, swallowing down the edges of his sorrow for pride, for conviction, for power, for potency and compassion, love of the world spread out before them. “We’ll go past the lake first,” there, the grin grew, a little more renewed. “It never freezes,” he winked, as if it were a joke – but it was truth, sincere and forthright – and then began wandering down the pathway, through the snow, through the pockets of melted rime, glancing back to her again and again to ensure she was following, the same cordial grin managing to find its spark across his features. “Where do you live now?” He inquired, making polite conversation, head tilted in interest, but not circling like a scavenger, like a vulture, like a wolfish, rapacious thing, genuinely intrigued by her journeys and crusades.

(something never comes)

erebos

never leads to nothing—nothing satisfies

but I’m getting close