the Rift


feeble rejuvenation ( open )

Cyrus Posts: 20
Up For Adoption
Stallion :: Equine :: 16.1 :: 3 Years Buff: NOVICE
Semper
#1




Will is strong inside him, beating in an ethereal sync to the pulse of the arteries of his chest, to the capillaries in his slowly aging brain. He feels it there but he does not understand what to do with this desire, this impulse that tugs so uncomfortably in his head. It drives Cyrus onward, away from the things that he loves most. He believes his parents abandoned him to bore more identical pairs of homesick lovestealers. The once bright, sunny child is frozen in the black waterhole of maturing aversion. And he's staying there. He is staying there by choice - growing, replicating thoughts that have gone far astray into the horizon of doubt. The Sunchild is amplifying fabrication. His own banishment is a pother to the real world around him. He is lost in his thoughts, he is pushing away the logic that lies in the love of his family.

He is making things up.

He has become a figment of his imagination.

The morning is honey. Birds lap anxiously in the sweet morning gale bleached gold by the slowly rising sun. The grass is a sticky slur of dew and softened sleet on the tallest of the bordering hills. Everything nature-related is finding good hope in the resulting Birdsong. But only things that are nature-related.

Cyrus steps from the hilly brush as dirty as can be, his body twined with a bad night's sleep sheen. His flaxen hair is tangled with damp twigs and leaves while his orange coat looks bay because of mud earned from a good roll. His eyes are still the same, though, electric but somehow lacking vitality. Among other things, his ears are pinned from the frustration of a cool, damp morning. Normally a stallion of his age would be as frisky as a female mockingbird, but it hasn't been that way for a few months. You wouldn't be very chipper either if your parents abandoned you to make fun of the rest of their life with multiple spawn-creating episodes that would make all the resulting sons vomit in their cheeks. But other than that it was a great day for the young stallion. He had a lot to think about.

Cyrus' steps begin to drag a little as the sun creates spots in his weak eyes and the birds begin to blare across the meadow. He finally stops when he reaches the center by the frigid pool of waterfall runoff and touches his cracked lips to the rippled surface, pulling the bitter water in with his tongue. It feels wonderful along the continuous grooves of his parched throat. When he finishes, the ruby stallion wades in with a hoof, watching the mud swirl around his unmarked pastern. His teal eyes watch the soil twirl in and out of the water particles. Cyrus remembers a blurry act of his foalhood, dancing in Thistle Meadow's summer creek with Aylin after visiting the sun from the high hills of the Heavenly Fields. Memories like those were what kept the colt going, they took the lost, fragmented young stallion and turned him into a boy again. They gave him just enough splendor to justify the frozen black waterhole he was drowning in, and heat it up just a little.

cyrus




In all Chaos
There is Calculation
please tag cyrus



Forum Jump:


RPGfix Equi-venture