daedalus ---
Deep in the Forest holds the kind of shadows Daedalus likes to blend into, but the canopy closes too tightly around him, blocking out the sky, the night, the world. The Forest stifled him, that months long stint living with nothing but the occasional wildlife and the planets circling his muddied skin.
Then came the months nearly wasted upon the hard remains of the Ruins. Days and weeks and what felt like years passed as the starry-eyed man peered at the sky. From atop the highest stone he could muster to chest deep in roiling, angry waves—he watched the sky as it changed from day to night. Those months are only nearly wasted because Daedalus discovered two very, very vital things: that he preferred the stars to the sun—and that the planets spoke to him as he always imagined.
Those months—ones that when put together equal years—are the seemingly infinite moments leading Daedalus to the edge of the Meadow.
The Meadow, lacking the claustrophobia of the canopied trees and the crash of the ocean.
The same moon that Daedalus has been chasing since he was a kid illuminates the summer wildflowers, paling all their vibrant colors with a silver sheen. He sighs, the ache in his chest singing, searching, blooming. Here they’ll speak to him again, surely. Without anything to distract him.
Only the chirping crickets and the stars above.
-------i didn’t have it in myself to go with grace
@savage