02-25-2020, 02:55 PM
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Gone is his better judgment.
Gone are most of his memories except what emotionally fuels him.
Gone are his softer emotions that steered him to do right by the world.
What awakens is something far more dreadful and deadly. It did not even rest on the usual ledge where family members peacefully slumber. It is tucked into the mouth of another summit, obscured by slowly drifting clouds, when its head lifts from the ground. It blinks away the sleep and licks its lips as hunger rises from its throat, the instinct demanding and drumming in his thoughts loud enough to suppress all else.
Slowly, it rises.
Curved talons gouge the rock underfoot as it lumbers toward the cavern’s edge. The ground trembles with every step, betraying its restlessness until it takes pause where the mountain falls away. A quiet observation confirms its solitude. There are no songbirds at this height, no chirping crickets. There is only an eerie calm broken up only by its deep breaths.
Lifting its elongated muzzle to the air, it catches notes of other lands (other prey) as well as all that lies below. Its brain processes it, merges the findings with the fading threads of memory that provide direction and motive.
Acting on blind emotion and hunger, a trumpeting roar bellows across the mountain range. Sitting back preparedly, and unfurling its immense wings, the dragon draws in a final breath before launching forward and taking flight. Within three powerful strokes, it ascends above the peaks and disappears into a thick cover of clouds where it’s spared from curious onlookers while it points northward.
Gone are most of his memories except what emotionally fuels him.
Gone are his softer emotions that steered him to do right by the world.
What awakens is something far more dreadful and deadly. It did not even rest on the usual ledge where family members peacefully slumber. It is tucked into the mouth of another summit, obscured by slowly drifting clouds, when its head lifts from the ground. It blinks away the sleep and licks its lips as hunger rises from its throat, the instinct demanding and drumming in his thoughts loud enough to suppress all else.
Slowly, it rises.
Curved talons gouge the rock underfoot as it lumbers toward the cavern’s edge. The ground trembles with every step, betraying its restlessness until it takes pause where the mountain falls away. A quiet observation confirms its solitude. There are no songbirds at this height, no chirping crickets. There is only an eerie calm broken up only by its deep breaths.
Lifting its elongated muzzle to the air, it catches notes of other lands (other prey) as well as all that lies below. Its brain processes it, merges the findings with the fading threads of memory that provide direction and motive.
Acting on blind emotion and hunger, a trumpeting roar bellows across the mountain range. Sitting back preparedly, and unfurling its immense wings, the dragon draws in a final breath before launching forward and taking flight. Within three powerful strokes, it ascends above the peaks and disappears into a thick cover of clouds where it’s spared from curious onlookers while it points northward.
castile