moon boy
through the windows of midnight
moonfoam and silver
The night is solid black; the moon is new and has left him wandering alone. Now and then he peers up at the sky, disappointed each and every time, but he keeps on going. The gypsy walks at a casual pace, holding his bicolored skull low and scouring the terrain before him with pale blue globes. He does not stumble, he floats like a dancer, smoothly covering ground and going ever deeper into the forest. Nares flare wide, inhaling the many foreign scents of this land; not as spicy or sweet as the lands he has just left, but with their own charm. His wandering soul is what brought him here, the fire burning inside him, urging him to go on, not knowing where to find what his heart desires, but determined to get there.
A small pond glistens before him, reflecting the stars in the sky that peer through a hole in the dense canopy above. He halts there, glancing into the depths, but seeing nothing but his romani self, staring back. Solitude has been consuming him for too long, his heart is dusty and cold, and in that moment he longs for the family that he has left behind. What glances back at him is his own face, but it looks almost like a stranger. He has grown older, but he is still young, beautiful even. The eyes that rest in his face are very expressive, they often smile, but they haven’ for a while. Plunging his pink mug into the water, he shatters his image and quenches his thirst in the cooling liquid.
Raising his head, small droplets fall from his muzzle, dripping onto the dry soil underhoof. A humming forms in his chest, the chickadees singing their lungs out, a couple of fireflies circling around him aimlessly. Otherwise, the forest lies asleep around him, though it has been disturbed by his presence. The gypsy figures that it will not take long for one of its children to approach, hopefully one of the right intentions. The scars on his hide witness where he has been driven away, where he wasn’t welcome and where he was called a fool. He will be their fool if they want him to, he had enough stories and riddles to fill a lifetime, their mock meant little to him in the end. A fool hears things, for when people consider you dumb, they let their guard down around you. In the end, you might end up being the most powerful of all.
It was not power that he was here for; if he wanted that, he would’ve never left. This was another story about to be told, and he was only on the first page.
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OLEMA & SUREMA
i tore off your wings
and i laughed
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We move in a slow, but productive manner. Through the hush of the dark we cannot help but feel silenced. There is nothing that needs to be said.
Wings whisper in the way that feathers brushing against feathers will. We listen barely, more attuned to the noises surrounding us rather than coming from us. Crickets chirping, trees groaning, birds warning and heat hissing. The last one surprises us.
Traveling into this land we felt the temperature rise. It began as a gradual climb, but now as we've immersed ourselves in this forest, this Threshold, we feel it smothering us. It makes our hide darken with sweat and our manes cling like sticky blood to our napes. We dislike it.
The signs are all around us.
Air so stale our lungs burn with each breath. We murmur childishly that we may spontaneously combust. A touch of a smile in our eyes at such thoughts, but a serious concern in the tilt of our lips.
Grass under hoof crunches with a brittle noise that makes us cringe at first. We feel as though we tread upon mouse bones.
Even the strong, mighty trees look parched. The bark seems more gnarled than ever, like dried flesh. The leaves are a sickly yellow-green and flutter with promise of falling whenever the wind does blow.
When she does blow, its as if a dragon has exhaled. We turn our heads down. We once relished the promise of a breeze, but not one like this, not one that comes from fire and flame.
We sigh.
From one disastrous place to another.
I touch my sister's scabs gently. She smiles at me, hoping that will console me, while her body tries to wriggle away from my touch. My eyes close for a moment as I try to control my protective nature. It pains me to see her in pain. She tells me it doesn't hurt, but I can see otherwise. I blame myself for her suffering... if I had guarded her better, if I had...
Her touch awakens me. My eyelashes flutter, blue eyes blinking out at my angel's face. I smile, and for once, it is not forced. She does not want me to dwell. She wishes I would not take the guilt. I try, I do, but I'm failing. I am ashamed at her wounds. I pray they will not scar and marr her beauty with my ineptitude. Never again I swear.
We halt together, both heads swinging around a tree. There is another we've walked in upon. We missed him, so lost in our personal reverie. My sister smiles, bashful at this, while I fight the urge to scowl at his interruption. Just when I was enjoying her touch too...
"Hello," Olema greets. Her voice is gentle and kind, airy and light. I cannot fight the smile from my lips. I could listen to her forever. "We apologize if we are tresspassing," Olema begins. My expression towards him offers no hint of an apology. "...we were just traveling." She is graceful as she strides towards him, hoping to be seen as non-threatening. Few can deny my sister. If not her beauty to heat the groin of stallions, even with her youth, it is her nature that soothes.
I bristle at her nearing proximity to him. My eyes flash in annoyance, quick strides bringing me back beside her and mildly in front of her. My shoulders posses her. "Tell us where we are." In contrary to my sibling, I am demanding and confrontational, my voice rougher and harder. If she is the gentle air on your face, the water cooling at your heels, then I am the fire burning your hide, the earth bruising your knees when you fall.
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Credits
moon boy
through the windows of midnight
moonfoam and silver
Instead of one, he is given two. The bicolored romani catches their scent before they come into view, intelligent eyes diverted in their direction. Winged they are, and so similar in appearance they might have been each other’s reflections. They are pale, pink of skin and blue of eye, sweat clinging to their hides. The gypsy is adjusted to heat, a mere dampness reflects on his nape, but he is certain that in daylight, this heat will be unbearable. They are but children; still their movements through the dry undergrowth are noisy, moving next to one another, hushed words now and then exchanged. Then they stop and not until then do they notice his presence.
He sees their difference immediately, for though they are similar on the outside, two different personalities shine out of their eyes. His own baby-blues are turned to the one speaking, and he watches her with interest, not revealing any thought or emotion on his patched face. She is kind on the eyes, but she is only a baby for all he is concerned, and this threshold isn’t his to guard. He nods at her speech, his body-language increasingly relaxed as he rests a back-hoof on its tip. Then the other steps closer as well, thrusting her body in before her sister, eyes unkind in their expression. The gypsy stays the same, piercing eyes now resting at the face of the second child, as she demands to be told where she is. Only he cannot tell her, for he does not know.
"People often say we are Pilgrims, just passing through
And if we think about it, this statement is probably true
We are here for a little while, but don't known for how long
We won't be coming back again, not after we are gone."
His words are sung in rhythmic prose, eyes gliding to the sky above to the twinkling stars, his guides in this foreign land, as if he hopes they will tell him something. "What belongs to you, yet others use it more than you do?" He speaks, attention drawn back to the yearlings in front of him. Mischief lingers on his face, and he does not speak any more. Instead he watches them, reading their faces for reactions, leaving his own as unreadable as the pale moon from whom he is named.
[OOC: I’m so sorry this sucks, please forgive me :(]
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OLEMA & SUREMA
i tore off your wings
and i laughed
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[No it was great ^^]
A dull pain gnaws on my hide with each stretch of my limbs. Scabs prickling as new skin unfolds beneath the old. It is dreadfully itchy, but I mind myself, knowing better than to scratch that desire. As if sensing my discomfort, Surema moves her nose to my healing wounds. The touch adds a new flare of hurt and need to rake it off. Resisting the initial thought to rebuke her with teeth, I smile tenderly, but shuffle away from her velvet nose. It felt like sandpaper.
Traveling and itching has made me irritable I guess.
I glance away, tail flicking dismissively, as if its movements could easily shake from me these feelings as it does dust and debris. When I turn back I find Surema's blue gaze darkening, her lips retreating, her mind...twisting. Tentatively I extend my nose to her. I hold my breath, not wanting to add my warm exhale to her already sweltering hide. There's a buzz of restrained movement rippling like an electric current beneath her pale hairs before her eyelashes curl up in turn with her smile. I return the graceful tilt of the lips. She will be okay then.
She has always been hard on herself, hard on others, and in some ways, hard on me. I reflect back to the times of our younger youths, still wet babes blundering around, untrained wings letting us strengthen our legs across the wilds. She had been weaker at first, but even then she led me when I could not see. I had been so afraid then and she had been so brave. I would always follow her.
I wish she would see the same strength within her that I see every day.
We pause. We're both tired and I want to mention rest, but I know Surema is anxious to be somewhere. It doesn't matter where, just somewhere. We enjoy our own company and we're not the biggest fans of rules and restrictions, perhaps being too feral too young made us a bit rebellious, but we still feel a yearning for civilization. Despite everything, I do enjoy playing a game or two with others. I can't play such games with Surema, she knows all the rules and all the tricks, same as me.
When we turn and see the stranger then, my heart melts instantly with relief. Finally I want to shout, but instead I walk forward, my legs feeling like a newborn filly again as happiness and weariness flood them. My eyes brighten, and I reach out with a soft voice to this fellow. Surema is not far behind, but her pace is scattered and nervous. She fears him. We've been looking for so long and now that we're here we've quite forgotten what to do with it, with him. Surema is harsher than she means to be, her body pushing into mine, a silent scream to turn back! I hold my ground, returning the pressure faintly. No.
She doesn't dare glance back at me and risk taking her eyes off the stallion (would she have been nicer with a mare I wonder absently), but I know annoyance flickers across her gaze. It's an expression worn for me. I bite my lip to keep from laughing or squeaking, she's grown quite heavy on my shoulders. Honestly, I protest with a shift of my wings, feathers grazing her back side in an admonishing way. She stiffens, affronted by my touch, but she stands up straight. Though, I notice with an inner grin, she does not move. That's okay though, I like knowing she's there, that she's strong.
All of this, this silent conversation and tumulus war, it looks merely like impatient fillies squirming in the heat.
He speaks then and we are both immediately attentive. I'm delighted by his prose, though Surema seems exasperated. We haven't talked to anyone else in some time and then when we do, he is cryptic. I purse my lips, giggling under my breath. Surema catches it and angles a single ear towards me. Why, I even catch a shifting of her eye towards me. How unguarded Surema! I shake my head as though disappointed, but it's so over done she'd know it's jest. Her sides heave in a quiet sigh of irritation. Oh my she is so easy to rile up tonight. Not able to resist provoking her, I flash a grin her way and she swats her tail in response, unamused with a strange stallion to content with. I'll get it later I'm sure, and resist the urge to giggle again.
"Oh my a riddle!" I exclaim then, shifting my attention back to the fellow. I wonder if he knew it ever left him? I'm sure, I was not nearly as subtle with my last accounts. "What does it mean though?" I wonder aloud, head tilting up in serious thought.
Beside me Surema snorts loudly, unimpressed apparently. "He is no more than a nomad himself. And he wants to know our names." Oh of course my little nightingale understood. She is quite musical and intelligent, my lovely Surema. She use to sing very often, but not lately... I pout at her sour mood, my lower lip pushing out from beneath my upper. I didn't miss the disappointment in her voice though. She feels failed - we're not somewhere after all. Not if we've come across a meager nomad. I feel a little depressed myself.
In a slightly less cheery tone I respond to him because I know Surema won't. "I'm Olema, and that's Surema. We were hoping to find a place to stay for a while, we've been walking for some time." Surema says nothing. I think she's lost herself to her mind again.
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Credits
| Hidden Account |
| Stallion :: Equine :: 16.2 hh :: 6 years |
| Blu |
hmm, I know Moon Boy was adopted out and have since seen him post elsewhere, and well now he's stolen, so is this thread going to be continued or ?
Tag me only if starting a new thread.
Magic or force permitted any time, aside from death.
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