03-27-2024, 03:36 PM
He has heard the saying as well, how they were all creatures made from the very land upon which they live. He’s seen it himself over the years – everything in Beqanna seemed set to recycle. He’s even heard tales of the stars falling to walk among them, only to procreate and to wither and fade as mortal beings.
But some things were made to last, or were blessed with the ever-present magic to remain far longer than normally possible. He himself bears the blood of the first magician in Beqanna, a fact his mother had imparted upon him in her hopes to elevate his sense of worth (and, no doubt, impart some superiority into his persona).
Oftentimes, he forgets such truths. But his discussion with Umani now reminds him of many things – of his ‘special’ bloodline, of the oddities that have graced the land over its many centuries, of the reality that death and magic are the only constants here.
These thoughts in mind, he speaks of her son’s death without pausing to consider her emotions. Her voice wavers and he sighs softly; the shadows shudder beneath him as if sensing his minor regret. Although it feels a bit forced, as if he is speaking through a veil, he admits: “I am sorry for your loss.”
Anadil had never taught him how to apologize. It was something unbecoming of him, in her mind.
“I suppose you’ll never know whether his death was by design or default,” he continues. “But it happened and there’s nothing to be done now.” He cannot recognize how cold of an observation it is; he wasn’t supposed to be soft-hearted.
She asks the question he had just been pondering himself – whether her rebirth means that she is now deathless – and he rolls his shoulder in a shrug. “I cannot answer that. Maybe it was a one-time gift… Or maybe it will always happen when tragedy finds you.” A faint, dark smile finds his lips – a grim remnant of his desires for destruction.
“I just know that the phoenix lived many lives, each ending and then beginning in flame. It never hesitated to do what it must to aid those in need. It seems a pity that you were only given a second chance of life… if you had wings like the bird in the story, you would truly be the hero it was.” Those, he knows, are a much more common feature among the horses of Beqanna and seem equally as useful as immortality.
“Imagine what it must be like, to see this world from the skies…” He looks upward, suddenly envious of the winged creatures in their world.
But some things were made to last, or were blessed with the ever-present magic to remain far longer than normally possible. He himself bears the blood of the first magician in Beqanna, a fact his mother had imparted upon him in her hopes to elevate his sense of worth (and, no doubt, impart some superiority into his persona).
Oftentimes, he forgets such truths. But his discussion with Umani now reminds him of many things – of his ‘special’ bloodline, of the oddities that have graced the land over its many centuries, of the reality that death and magic are the only constants here.
These thoughts in mind, he speaks of her son’s death without pausing to consider her emotions. Her voice wavers and he sighs softly; the shadows shudder beneath him as if sensing his minor regret. Although it feels a bit forced, as if he is speaking through a veil, he admits: “I am sorry for your loss.”
Anadil had never taught him how to apologize. It was something unbecoming of him, in her mind.
“I suppose you’ll never know whether his death was by design or default,” he continues. “But it happened and there’s nothing to be done now.” He cannot recognize how cold of an observation it is; he wasn’t supposed to be soft-hearted.
She asks the question he had just been pondering himself – whether her rebirth means that she is now deathless – and he rolls his shoulder in a shrug. “I cannot answer that. Maybe it was a one-time gift… Or maybe it will always happen when tragedy finds you.” A faint, dark smile finds his lips – a grim remnant of his desires for destruction.
“I just know that the phoenix lived many lives, each ending and then beginning in flame. It never hesitated to do what it must to aid those in need. It seems a pity that you were only given a second chance of life… if you had wings like the bird in the story, you would truly be the hero it was.” Those, he knows, are a much more common feature among the horses of Beqanna and seem equally as useful as immortality.
“Imagine what it must be like, to see this world from the skies…” He looks upward, suddenly envious of the winged creatures in their world.
doctor