I'M GOING TO TELL YOU THE STORY
the story of eight lives
With every step I took it grew colder, until my knees ached and squealed, and the bones in my skinny leonine tail popped alarmingly, all I felt and not heard. The air was ice, ice ice ice, frigid in my lungs, carving into my precious oxygen-consumers with frozen shrapnel. I have realized I am condemned to this fate, fumbling in this blind world, without Azel. Indeed, I begin to wish those search parties I had run from so long ago had caught me, that Mother Amarilla, Queen of Azelhaden, still searched for me, the Wise Woman I had become, the shaman and seer and necromancer and creature of darker things. Or maybe Hera would have looked for me, should she exist in this timeline that comes and goes ticking.
It is one thing I can hear in my small, useless ears- the sinister tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. I stumble, come slipping down to black knees, cloven hooves scrabbling for a grip on the slick snow with no avail, and for a minute I keel over, gasping for this cold hungry air, before I manage to pull my frail body up into standing position again, fraught with fear. Had I just tripped over something? Or had it been something worse? A band of colts coming to hit me, bruise me, shatter my exceedingly delicate hollow bones?
It cannot be, for no other pain is forthwithcoming. So I continue on my perilous way, unaware I go ever deeper into the Frostbreath Steppe, unaware I am only a mile or two away from the Basin, and fully, totally, oblivious to the fact the wind is blowing my scent towards them on this barren world. Yet I thrive in this world, this world of emptiness, like Jipsur, the slightly sullen shores on the edge of ocean blue and wide.
In fact, if I do try to recall, I can smell salt hanging in the air- Jipsur? For a moment my spirits rise, then they plummet. Old fool, I curse, knowing the ocean land would never become this damn cold. On I venture into the unknown, knees creaky, wings folded to sides to keep worn flanks warm enough, and I am finally on the border of the Time God's land, quite fully dumb to the fact I am only feet away from a land of battle-hungry unicorns.
""
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| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 :: Old |
| Aud |
01-16-2013, 03:48 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-16-2013, 03:48 PM by Myrddin.)
The old stag was growing more and more frustrated by his lack of sight.
He had a fairly accurate mental map of the Basin, and to a lesser extent, of the Arch and the Steppe, for they bordered his herdland. But beyond that? Myrddin had been blinded shortly after he had entered Helovia. Mauja and Sorcha's faces were really the only one's he could recall with any clarity. What about the un-cat's smile? his mind probed, and yes, Myr had to admit, the would-be cat's pink smile was clear and distinct in his mind. All of that was no consequence, however. He needed to find three; three with differing emotions that he was told to understand. Perhaps he had already found 2 of these, in Torasin and Valentine, although he wasn't entirely sure. His philosophical scepticism cast shadows of doubt on the tales that they had told him.
Thus, the tall white stallion, adorned with a gnarled and twisted branch of a horn, made his was towards Xylia. He would try somewhere else this time, and damn the consequences. He wouldn't go too far, and surely someone would bring his decrepit old ass back should he be unable to find his way. As he moved, the picture in his mind began to grow fuzzy and dark, as he slowly lost the ability to recall the details of where he was. It was like looking through night vision goggles, that have suddenly gone dark 20 feet ahead. Flicking his long white tail, he grunted, determined to complete his quest, one way or another. Maybe luck would be with him, and he'd simply run into a vengeful creature, hear his tale, and be done with it.
That's almost what happened. Xylia wasn't vengeful, but Myr was about it run into her.
It would be like watching a slow motion car crash. Myr, tall, white and horned, and Xylia, short, dark, and winged. Each lumbering with the pain of age, each literally blind to the world. It was nearly inevitable that they would collide. Myrddin was too lost in the words the Goddess of the Moon had spoken to him, to notice the dusty and old smell, characteristic of the very old. Perhaps it was because he too gave off that scent, and had become immune to it. Perhaps he simply wasn't paying attention, for it wasn't as though her cloven hooves were silent on the rocky Basin terrain.
Impact in 3...2....1....
If it all goes crashing into the sea,
If it's just you and me, trying to find a light,
Like ships in the night.
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I'M GOING TO TELL YOU THE STORY
the story of eight lives
I pause, the freezing air scraping against the heat of my lungs as I inhale deeply. My exhale is soft and long and smooth, what I'm sure comes from my mouth is curls and twists of pale smoke gray. It smells of frost and grass and minerals, wherever I might be right now, and the air is pure like that I would find near a forest, a fact I enjoy. Pine-scent has always been refreshing.
My tip of my slender tail rests on the snow, half-curled around my left hind as I wonder again about Hera. I had loved her, and it would be fair to say an affection for one of the same gender was bizarre. But I hadn't always kept adoration for those of my sex- Saph, I had loved, and yet my faith in him had not prevented me from being torn apart and served as dinner to leo-rins. Naturally, even that be the end of it. Reincarnation, in some sort of twisted joke that gods must have been laughing about. I was born, peculiarly enough, to Saph and a mare named Ktesippe. Oh, how hard it had been to contain my love for Saph! It had been, by far, the strangest experience of my many lives. Of course, Ktesippe didn't help, with her extraordinary looks and beauty, and youth...
I am jerked out of memories by something big, tall, and broad, a something that has a smooth coat and smells strongly of mothballs and age, like an attic in the house I had owned in Heripides. The home I eventually shared with the court lady Hera.
Knees fold, wings twist, tail curls. Snow is cold, wet but soft against my perilously thin coat. Legs straighten, wings rouse, ears lock to skull. Ears rise, ears flick. Disappointing nothing. Eyes open, wide, wide, wide- nothing. Eyes squeeze shut. I can survive like this, for a time, but a guardian of some sorts would be much better to keep. I am faintly reminded of a time, in a land somewhere on this globe, where the gods gave me a companion. Was it Geia? I think it had been her.
I smiled wryly, so lost I am in these old moldering halls that are my thoughts. Then I shake them away, away from little Kanzi the dog.
"May I ask who you are?" I finally say, knowing it would be best to at least try to hold a conversation, even should it be futile. Seconds tick by, and then I say- "I'm Xylia." At least, I hope the correct number of seconds have passed before my response. It's hard to tell, even after years upon years. You never know when you will come across a horse filled to the brim with words that continue to overflow, or one that speaks but one word.
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| Deceased |
| Stallion :: Unicorn :: 17 :: Old |
| Aud |
As their bodies collided, Myr felt a sense of anger and frustration wash through him. "Gods be damned" He snarled as he side-stepped sideways, trying to keep his balance. Nearly every creature in the Basin should be aware that their Haruspex was blind - what fool was wandering about so oblivious to his towering white presence, that they had knocked into him? Some foal perhaps, given that the impact has been low on his body. That was still no excuse.
May I as who you are?…I'm Xylia Myrddin frowned as she spoke. Her words were not those of the very young - in fact her voice sounded just as aged as his own. And she was clearly not of the Basin, lest she would already know who he was. His blind gaze settled upon where he believed her to be, given the way her words made themselves to his large moose-like ears. Gruffly, he replied, "I am Myrddin. Haruspex of the Aurora Basin. Long days and pleasant nights, Sai Xylia". His voice sounded like a singer who had inhaled far too much smoke in his life - melodic but raspy. He greeted her formally, as was the custom in the lands that he came from.
"Apologies Sai, for knocking into you. I was blinded some months ago, and have not yet regained my sight. What brings you to the Aurora Basin?" Flicking his tail, he failed to ask if she had sustained any injuries due to their collision. The philosopher assumed that if she had been injured, she wouldn't have began by asking who he was, but instead of asking for aid and assistance.
If it all goes crashing into the sea,
If it's just you and me, trying to find a light,
Like ships in the night.
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I'M GOING TO TELL YOU THE STORY
the story of eight lives
If I concentrate, my whiskers can sense the slightest of vibrations as he speaks. But I have not practiced deciphering these faint beings. I can almost make out the syllables for each word, but they do not fit into any customary greetings I'm aware of. First it is; one-one-two or three. Pause. Three-one-one-three-two. Pause. One-one-one-two-one-one-Xylia. There is one vibration I do recognize, to mild surprise. My name. I strain to make out the rest of the sentence, but there is nothing forewithcoming, so I smile politely and nod, hoping this will work.
Again the vibrations begin. Three-one-one-two-two-one. Pause. One-one-two-two-one or two-two-one-one-one-one-two-one-one. Pause. One-one-one-one-one-three-two. Interesting. There was a three-two in each of the sentences. But what? Were they his name? But why would this stallion smelling of attics repeat his name twice? Had he already guessed at my deafness and blindness? Not possible. No way.
I shift my weight and consider my opportunities. Do I dare to attempt at conversation again? What are the chances of me speaking correctly, anyways? Well... if I were to come across an intruder on my land, I would probably ask them what they were doing. Or maybe he was just asking how I felt after falling. I wasn't so sure, thinking of that. My knees kept me in a short-strided hobble anyways, so I doubt there was any significant damage done anyways.
"I'm fine, sir." I say, tail twitching, rustling over the frosted grass. "I was just exploring, I think." I think? Shouldn't I be more assertive than that? What if this is somebody ready to harm me? Should I just open myself up and tell them I can't see them. No, this is one stallion. Not several. I can smell peculiar frost-time scent on him, the sort of scent that often prevades me when I am reincarnated. Oh well. What is said is said; what is done is done.
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