10-07-2019, 01:58 AM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allura' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .larketwo_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/Y24jrMd5/larketwo-bg.png'); width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 3px #e0e2e6; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .larketwo_container p { margin: 0; } .larketwo_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .larketwo_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: -325px; border: solid 1px #e0e2e6; border-bottom: none; } .larketwo_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #444a4a; padding: 30px; } .larketwo_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; bottom: -25px; right: 20px; color: #c3c4c6; font: 100px 'Allura', cursive; text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #242924; opacity: 0.8; } .larketwo_quote { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; color: #798482; text-align: left; font-style: italic; padding-top: 30px; padding-left: 30px; line-height: 1.3; } .larketwo_quotetwo { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; color: #798482; text-align: right; font-style: italic; padding-right: 30px; line-height: 1.3; } </style> <center> <div class="larketwo_container"> <div class="larketwo_text"> <p class="larketwo_quote">carried by the current of the morning <br>miles below the surface of the dawn<p> <p class="larketwo_message"> When she comes to, it is the girl’s kind face that she sees. She is pale and frightened still, but kind, and although she looks nothing like she has ever seen before, Larke does not feel any fear. The girl strokes her face, whispering to her, and Larke feels something like relief to know that she had not misjudged the situation. To know that she had not been just foolish in trying to help the fearsome beast.
And she feels an endless wave of gratitude—for helping her rest, helping her heal.
The lay like that for a while, Larke’s tired head in the woman’s lap, and she listens to the girl talk of how they have been attacked—at how fiercely her dragon protector has had to fight and the wounds that had begun to pile up. Larke smiles at that, fatigued but glad to know she had been able to bolster the creature.
And when she finally is able to regain her strength, she lifts herself to her feet, shaking the flowers in her mane until they nearly bloom, and she follows the girl down to the cave. It is clear to Larke that this is what the two have been trying so hard to guard, and she does not ask why it is just the two of them now.
The sadness in the girl’s eyes is answer enough.
The two of them embrace before the princess hurries her along and Larke turns her attention toward the path that winds and weaves before her. Here, again, she feels the rhythm of her fear return—the nerves that bite at her as the path grows dark and uneven and then lighter and lighter. She is not certain whether she is relieved to be able to see again or more frightened when she looks up to see the ocean pounding above her, but she reminds herself that she has been able to survive this far. She is not so weak after all.
Straightening her shoulders, she continues forward. Past the fish and the tide and then up and further up, the strain of it making her legs ache. When she emerges, the city is blinding. Golden and ethereal and though she does not have a name for the legend, it strikes at the very core of her as something precious.
She blinks against the light and then feels a shiver race up her spine when her vision comes into focus. The creatures before her are more familiar than the girl had been but she has no name for them. They are part stag—the antlers, at least, are familiar for her—and part bird—the wings make her ache for her mother—but there is something fierce about them, something cold, and she pauses, caught before them.
They say nothing, but she notices the way that they shuffle together and lock as if in formation. The way that they size her up and peer behind her; the tension in the air is palpable and she wants to cry out to them that she is not a danger—that she means no harm. But out of the corner of her eye, she sees a shadow along the ground that snags her attention. The rest of their shadows reflect themselves back at them, as strange and fearsome as they may be, but there is another whose shadow is different.
It does not match the creature at all.
It looks like—well, it looks like the girl she had just said farewell to.
Larke moves forward out of instinct more than anything toward the creature that has at least the shadow of her friend but the creature does not return the motion. Instead, it merely grows more and more uncomfortable, fidgeting while the rest of the army presses closer together, as if readying themselves.
“Help,” she manages, her voice thick in her throat. “She needs help. It’s just a girl now—she looks like this,” she motions to the shadow,” and the dragon and they are tired. Everyone else is—,” she shakes her head because it feels too bleak to say it, “is gone. They were protecting you right? Helping guard this?”
She looks around to the splendor and the faces that she can see now in the city. The ones who regard her with the same fear and concern that the princess had from the window, the ones who clutch at their children and drag them closer. Larke can only imagine what the dragon must be guarding from now.
“I’m not here to hurt you, but I need to give you this message: she needs help.”
And then she does the only thing that she can: she waits. </p> <p class="larketwo_quotetwo">this is not the place that I was born in <br>but it doesn't mean it's not the place where I belong<p> </div> <div class="larketwo_name">larke</div> <img class="larketwo_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/sf8ywW98/larketwo.png"> </div> </center>
And she feels an endless wave of gratitude—for helping her rest, helping her heal.
The lay like that for a while, Larke’s tired head in the woman’s lap, and she listens to the girl talk of how they have been attacked—at how fiercely her dragon protector has had to fight and the wounds that had begun to pile up. Larke smiles at that, fatigued but glad to know she had been able to bolster the creature.
And when she finally is able to regain her strength, she lifts herself to her feet, shaking the flowers in her mane until they nearly bloom, and she follows the girl down to the cave. It is clear to Larke that this is what the two have been trying so hard to guard, and she does not ask why it is just the two of them now.
The sadness in the girl’s eyes is answer enough.
The two of them embrace before the princess hurries her along and Larke turns her attention toward the path that winds and weaves before her. Here, again, she feels the rhythm of her fear return—the nerves that bite at her as the path grows dark and uneven and then lighter and lighter. She is not certain whether she is relieved to be able to see again or more frightened when she looks up to see the ocean pounding above her, but she reminds herself that she has been able to survive this far. She is not so weak after all.
Straightening her shoulders, she continues forward. Past the fish and the tide and then up and further up, the strain of it making her legs ache. When she emerges, the city is blinding. Golden and ethereal and though she does not have a name for the legend, it strikes at the very core of her as something precious.
She blinks against the light and then feels a shiver race up her spine when her vision comes into focus. The creatures before her are more familiar than the girl had been but she has no name for them. They are part stag—the antlers, at least, are familiar for her—and part bird—the wings make her ache for her mother—but there is something fierce about them, something cold, and she pauses, caught before them.
They say nothing, but she notices the way that they shuffle together and lock as if in formation. The way that they size her up and peer behind her; the tension in the air is palpable and she wants to cry out to them that she is not a danger—that she means no harm. But out of the corner of her eye, she sees a shadow along the ground that snags her attention. The rest of their shadows reflect themselves back at them, as strange and fearsome as they may be, but there is another whose shadow is different.
It does not match the creature at all.
It looks like—well, it looks like the girl she had just said farewell to.
Larke moves forward out of instinct more than anything toward the creature that has at least the shadow of her friend but the creature does not return the motion. Instead, it merely grows more and more uncomfortable, fidgeting while the rest of the army presses closer together, as if readying themselves.
“Help,” she manages, her voice thick in her throat. “She needs help. It’s just a girl now—she looks like this,” she motions to the shadow,” and the dragon and they are tired. Everyone else is—,” she shakes her head because it feels too bleak to say it, “is gone. They were protecting you right? Helping guard this?”
She looks around to the splendor and the faces that she can see now in the city. The ones who regard her with the same fear and concern that the princess had from the window, the ones who clutch at their children and drag them closer. Larke can only imagine what the dragon must be guarding from now.
“I’m not here to hurt you, but I need to give you this message: she needs help.”
And then she does the only thing that she can: she waits. </p> <p class="larketwo_quotetwo">this is not the place that I was born in <br>but it doesn't mean it's not the place where I belong<p> </div> <div class="larketwo_name">larke</div> <img class="larketwo_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/sf8ywW98/larketwo.png"> </div> </center>