05-09-2024, 10:44 AM
As the vague misty clouds part, stirred away by the gentle beat of the bird’s expansive wings when it soars over, the bridge comes into clearer view. Now flanked by temporary swirls of visible condensation, the ‘natural’ (for what truly is natural in this floating landscape?) crossing is just as mystical as the rest of this place. From the ground at one edge of Sophist’s small island emerge a medley of silvery-lavender tendrils. Each one is wide and round and appears supple, almost alive beyond a sense of plant life. They twist and twine within and around one another to create a broad and sturdy link between the two islands, though this bridge they form is clearly flexible to account for any shift between the hovering landmasses.
Sophist steps nearer, his pace still slow and cautious, and he can feel a nearly tangible pulse of magic radiating gently from the peculiar structure. The vines themselves seem almost to glow with a gentle purplish light, gleaming with faint dashes of gilded silver threads in the setting sun’s light. As he draws closer, small buds begin to emerge as if to greet him. Beginning around the grassy bases of the vines, they bloom rapidly with faces of iridescent hues – white, pink, violet, blue – and add to the overall shimmer of the bridge.
Pausing to admire it all, some of the indigo colt’s anxiety fades away. The heady aroma of the flowers could be to thank for this soothing effect, as they emit a wonderful perfume that fills the air around him. As he continues onward, hesitantly placing one pale hoof and then another upon the surface of the crossing, he can feel the vines shift ever so slightly beneath him. They move almost like a mass of tethered tentacles, adjusting as if to provide him with level ground to walk upon. Around each hoof blossom more of the flowers, almost pearlescent as they sparkle up at him.
A vague smile has found its way to the purple boy’s mouth now and he wonders why he had been nervous at all.
The strange tendrils with their gentle shifting and charming floral trinkets provide such a reassuring path for him that he continues his walk at a more assured, leisurely pace. He can almost feel the bridge connecting him not just to the island on the other side, but to the very heart of the magic in this place. His limbs feel warmed, his heart feels light, and for those few moments, he feels entirely at ease.
Until there is a shift in the serenity of it all.
In his periphery, there is movement. The clouds of the ‘river’ below seem to grow darker and swirl a little stronger, shifting as a silhouetted figure moves within them. Something long and slim ‘swims’ within the now stormy cumulus stream, its length immeasurable at this time as it weaves its way closer to him. Sophist turns to study this new arrival, stopping almost halfway along the bridge’s ample span and affixing the unknown creature with his silvery eyes.
Drawn either by the subtle movements of the bridge’s twining or by the scent of the flowers it bears, the long, sharp head of a serpent-like creature emerges near the opposite bank of the cloud-stream. Wasting no time, it coils its almost draconic body around the end of the bridge, wrapping itself several times around the vines to construct a barrier with its wingless form.
Its scales glimmer with a similar pearly sheen as the blooms at Sophist’s feet; its eyes, large and without pupils, glow fiercely with a white sheen like moonlight as they pierce through the mist with an unyielding gaze. Long, wispy tendrils extend from its sinuous body, each one a different sky-shade of color to mimic the sunset all around it. Some of these whisker-like extensions weave into the soft branches of the bridge as if to anchor the creature, the Cloud Serpent, even further to its treasure and Sophist can feel a slight shift in the magic beneath his hooves as it is altered somewhat. It now feels as though a cold sort of wind emanates from the bridge as the guardian’s magic reaches out, seeking the intruder.
The colt studies the rather massive form which now blocks his way and feels a minor leap in his heartbeat, a new surfacing of unease rising slowly in his chest.
How would he cross this new obstacle?
Yet, just as steadily as that nervousness builds, so too does a sense of understanding, as if he just knows this mythical creature. It breathes at the foot of the bridge with a reptilian hiss, resting its jaw upon the lush vines and stirring a new patch of flowers into life.
It waits.
And Sophist can feel what it feels: the hidden sadness in its briny heart, the offense at any disturbance in this otherwise quiet place, the lonely desire for companionship and trust, for a partner to guard the skybound home it holds most dear.
The young horse breathes a heavy exhale which mimics the sound of the Serpent, a low hiss emitting from his nostrils with the same resonance as if he possessed an ophidian glottis himself. It is a comforting sound even to himself and one which the Cloud Serpent immediately seems to recognize. Two tendrils near the back of its large head seem to perk up like an animal’s ears would do, piqued by the unexpected return. There is another swell of emotion which sprouts and spreads in the pool of Sophist’s mind, one which does not come from himself. It is a surge of hope, of that yearning for familiarity that he had sensed only moments ago.
Were these the guardian’s desires? This rosy feeling of kinship, of belonging, of no longer being alone – these things could not come from Sophist, a boy who has always been content in his solitude.
Seizing upon these feelings, the colt steps carefully forward again and studies the creature carefully. Observing each of its features, the way its tongue tests the air and how it sways so carefully as if caught in the wind despite being wrapped securely around the bridge, he understands at last that it must be alone up here, somehow forgotten among the clouds. Its heart aches to love and be loved and Sophist nods, admitting to himself that perhaps he and the creature are alike after all.
And when he looks down as he nods, he notices that his limbs have vanished even to his own eyes. A slightly panicked glance over his shoulder reveals that the rest of his body has changed as well: no longer is he the deep purple equine he recognizes, but instead a soft, periwinkle-colored version of the very same species as the Cloud Serpent. He can still feel his actual body, his long knobby legs and his still-growing tail, the tickle of his short mane upon the crest of his neck, but his observable form is now just as mighty and draconic as the bridge’s keeper.
At the end of the tendriled crossing, the true Serpent lifts its head and issues an oddly comforting growl that rumbles deeply like the thunder of an impending storm. It awaits a response, coiling some of its body upward as it studies him from afar.
Sophist steps nearer, his pace still slow and cautious, and he can feel a nearly tangible pulse of magic radiating gently from the peculiar structure. The vines themselves seem almost to glow with a gentle purplish light, gleaming with faint dashes of gilded silver threads in the setting sun’s light. As he draws closer, small buds begin to emerge as if to greet him. Beginning around the grassy bases of the vines, they bloom rapidly with faces of iridescent hues – white, pink, violet, blue – and add to the overall shimmer of the bridge.
Pausing to admire it all, some of the indigo colt’s anxiety fades away. The heady aroma of the flowers could be to thank for this soothing effect, as they emit a wonderful perfume that fills the air around him. As he continues onward, hesitantly placing one pale hoof and then another upon the surface of the crossing, he can feel the vines shift ever so slightly beneath him. They move almost like a mass of tethered tentacles, adjusting as if to provide him with level ground to walk upon. Around each hoof blossom more of the flowers, almost pearlescent as they sparkle up at him.
A vague smile has found its way to the purple boy’s mouth now and he wonders why he had been nervous at all.
The strange tendrils with their gentle shifting and charming floral trinkets provide such a reassuring path for him that he continues his walk at a more assured, leisurely pace. He can almost feel the bridge connecting him not just to the island on the other side, but to the very heart of the magic in this place. His limbs feel warmed, his heart feels light, and for those few moments, he feels entirely at ease.
Until there is a shift in the serenity of it all.
In his periphery, there is movement. The clouds of the ‘river’ below seem to grow darker and swirl a little stronger, shifting as a silhouetted figure moves within them. Something long and slim ‘swims’ within the now stormy cumulus stream, its length immeasurable at this time as it weaves its way closer to him. Sophist turns to study this new arrival, stopping almost halfway along the bridge’s ample span and affixing the unknown creature with his silvery eyes.
Drawn either by the subtle movements of the bridge’s twining or by the scent of the flowers it bears, the long, sharp head of a serpent-like creature emerges near the opposite bank of the cloud-stream. Wasting no time, it coils its almost draconic body around the end of the bridge, wrapping itself several times around the vines to construct a barrier with its wingless form.
Its scales glimmer with a similar pearly sheen as the blooms at Sophist’s feet; its eyes, large and without pupils, glow fiercely with a white sheen like moonlight as they pierce through the mist with an unyielding gaze. Long, wispy tendrils extend from its sinuous body, each one a different sky-shade of color to mimic the sunset all around it. Some of these whisker-like extensions weave into the soft branches of the bridge as if to anchor the creature, the Cloud Serpent, even further to its treasure and Sophist can feel a slight shift in the magic beneath his hooves as it is altered somewhat. It now feels as though a cold sort of wind emanates from the bridge as the guardian’s magic reaches out, seeking the intruder.
The colt studies the rather massive form which now blocks his way and feels a minor leap in his heartbeat, a new surfacing of unease rising slowly in his chest.
How would he cross this new obstacle?
Yet, just as steadily as that nervousness builds, so too does a sense of understanding, as if he just knows this mythical creature. It breathes at the foot of the bridge with a reptilian hiss, resting its jaw upon the lush vines and stirring a new patch of flowers into life.
It waits.
And Sophist can feel what it feels: the hidden sadness in its briny heart, the offense at any disturbance in this otherwise quiet place, the lonely desire for companionship and trust, for a partner to guard the skybound home it holds most dear.
The young horse breathes a heavy exhale which mimics the sound of the Serpent, a low hiss emitting from his nostrils with the same resonance as if he possessed an ophidian glottis himself. It is a comforting sound even to himself and one which the Cloud Serpent immediately seems to recognize. Two tendrils near the back of its large head seem to perk up like an animal’s ears would do, piqued by the unexpected return. There is another swell of emotion which sprouts and spreads in the pool of Sophist’s mind, one which does not come from himself. It is a surge of hope, of that yearning for familiarity that he had sensed only moments ago.
Were these the guardian’s desires? This rosy feeling of kinship, of belonging, of no longer being alone – these things could not come from Sophist, a boy who has always been content in his solitude.
Seizing upon these feelings, the colt steps carefully forward again and studies the creature carefully. Observing each of its features, the way its tongue tests the air and how it sways so carefully as if caught in the wind despite being wrapped securely around the bridge, he understands at last that it must be alone up here, somehow forgotten among the clouds. Its heart aches to love and be loved and Sophist nods, admitting to himself that perhaps he and the creature are alike after all.
And when he looks down as he nods, he notices that his limbs have vanished even to his own eyes. A slightly panicked glance over his shoulder reveals that the rest of his body has changed as well: no longer is he the deep purple equine he recognizes, but instead a soft, periwinkle-colored version of the very same species as the Cloud Serpent. He can still feel his actual body, his long knobby legs and his still-growing tail, the tickle of his short mane upon the crest of his neck, but his observable form is now just as mighty and draconic as the bridge’s keeper.
At the end of the tendriled crossing, the true Serpent lifts its head and issues an oddly comforting growl that rumbles deeply like the thunder of an impending storm. It awaits a response, coiling some of its body upward as it studies him from afar.
Sophist
if you take my nights will you leave me my days?