the dead are coming home; kernick

[demian]

D E M I A N ( carnage x adalind )

Sunrise.

It was the soft golden glow that danced through the treetops and woke the dark stallion like timework. With a soft rustle of his wings, he blinked the sleep from his eyes and looked around at the surrounding forest. It took only moments for him to realize how silent it truly was.

Occasionally a random song from the black birds would dance through the air and they were what happened to be the first to catch his attention that morning. Due to the few newcomers in the last weeks boredom had started to set in when there was nothing for him to do and so he quickly found himself following the birds as the flew to west.

It wasn't long before he found himself stepping out of the valley and following the commonly traveled path towards the meadow lands. Back and forth the black birds danced across the open sky as the led the muscular man closer until finally he found himself winding through the woods around trees and underbrush.

The darkness caused by the closely pressed together trees and thick leaved canopy went barely noticed. Years ago the fear of the dark and creeping shadows had left him. Growing up in one of the darkest of kingdoms he had become accustomed to and even had become somewhat friends with the creepy crawlings the darkness brought with it.

What would usually cause one's hair to stand on end, was what would soothe him. Creepy crawlers meant he was always in the right place. This meant his mind would be at ease, that his differences would be accepted.

Twisting and turning through the trees, he kept his eyes on a single black bird until it dove out into the open. He had been keeping an eye on it with careful ease for the last few miles. Coming to a stop at the treeline, he kept himself from stepping out into the sun.

Slowly he looked out at all the gathered groups and suddenly he had no idea what he was really doing here. Socialization wasn't one of his best qualities and for the longest time he had spent his youth avoiding everyone at all costs. He could easily have been described as a severe introvert. It wasn't until he heard the younger boy's call that he snapped out of his daze.

Glancing towards the river he watched as the silver boy kept his head held towards the sky and continued to call softly. Looking around he realized that nobody was going to move towards him. Nobody was glancing his way and with a soft sigh he realized it was time to practice his communication skills. Though who better to practice on then a child? Always they were less judgmental. Slower to fade into the shadows if you came off too odd. This young boy would be the perfect candidate.

And so he found himself stepping forward and towards the river. With slow steps he made his way towards the young one. The feeling of the soft grass brushing against his legs was almost foreign to him. Ever since he had lived in the valley tall grass had been almost obsolete. The way it tickled and danced across his skin was almost irritating. So when he finally stepped out of the grass and onto the river bank a soft mutter and then sigh of released passed through his lips.

"What are you doing?" Glancing over at the boy he huffed slightly. "It's a little early isn't it? For being so loud." Always so charming. His lack of interaction among children was blatantly obvious. Rustling his wings softly he turned slightly towards him. "Are you lonely or something? Because I don't think I can help you with that." With a slight grimace he looked back towards the rest of the gathering horses in the meadow and wondered yet again what he was even doing here.

immortal winged black hybrid stallion

thnx

[Kernick]

endlessly, she said

Autumn's reign is colourful. Oranges and browns, crimsons and mauves. The treeline of the Gates, bares naked limbs, boughs looking like gnarled fingers beckoning me forth. The spires of burgundy light, from the dying sun, pierce through, falling like wine into goblets, in my path. I’m there, in the moist cove of bark and leaves, staring out into the vast expanse of the Gates. The mottled green and brown grass looking like a sea of foam, flickering in the autumn breeze.

They’re out there. I see them, their eyes, thousands and thousands of eyes, staring back at me. Wanting, needing. I lower my neck, my head resting on a nest of pinecones and gorse. I had made it, to make some warmth, for the lack of it from my mother was terrifying. She fed me, she watched me, but oh, there was no warmth. I did not think she was capable. Her blank stare, albeit her touch is soft, but is not motherly, needing, wanting. Thus, I hide, in the cove of birch and ash, hiding from those eyes, those prying ears.

They’re watching. They’re in the shadows, their eyes unblinking. I shiver against the wind, nestling myself deeper into the nest of gorse, the thistles poke in my tender cocoa flesh, knotting in my wispy silver mane. I’m a duplicate of my mother, a chocolate coat and a silver mane and tail, and as duplicates go, I am her parallel. We bear significance in the way the knots entangle, the way the pinecones leave their delicate indentations against soft flesh. We both look as empty and hollow was each other, if only there was the love, the warmth I had seen in the other children and their mothers.

But they, they did not have the eyes staring, ever present, they did not hear the creaks of doors, somewhere, everywhere. And they, they did not hear the distant cackle and whip of chains. In the woods, in the shadows. It was no wonder my mother was a wreck, they were everywhere, everywhere…

Then I spot him, the shadow that stalks me, with broad wings like a crow, a raven. He speaks, my fluffed ears turn and absorb every word, each syllable. and then, I watch. I watch like a hawk, like the crows that settle in a murder above, with the same sinister stare, but mine, mine is long, lengthy in their observation before I finally break through the barrier I had made, a mental glass shroud around me, and slowly, ever so slowly, I inch closer to him, to the warmth of his realness, his flesh and bone.

I stand not far, and yet not close, my head lowering to the ground, where I snatch at a few weeds and thoughtlessly chew, they do not fill what my mother’s sustenance does, but it is a habit I’ve began, and will continue. To chew thoughtfully yet pointlessly, before spitting out the course weeds and watching them lay beneath my feet, forgotten. Much like me. I whuffle gently, a smooth sound coming from my lips, yet nothing more. Silence. Awkward and imposing. Words form in my mouth, yet refuse to slip from my tongue.

K E R N I C K

khaos x reuen