06-12-2024, 08:43 PM
Ruhr often has dreams of the petrified statue beside the water. The dreams are never pleasant ones, but as he often shakes himself awake in terror, at least they are rarely long dreams. The Moon does not speak to him when he dreams of the statue, of the fear on the acolyte’s frozen face, of the way the whole thing had shone like the moon, faintly and eternally.
Ruhr glows like that now, glows with light.
Her light. Or is it His?
The Moon overhead is as slim as a blade of grass, and yet the swaying grasses around him are aglow with light that he emanates. This magic was not a gift from Her, after all. He had taken it at Her behest, but he had paid the price.
Is paying the price still, as he surveys the still-dark world around him. He shakes his feathered head, as though the action might dislodge the image of the acolyte’s face from his mind.
The effort only rearranges his colorful mane, crossing the strands of dusky purple with the brighter yellows, twisting the salmon with the rose. Like his wings and the markings along his legs and face, the sunset-colored markings are the only part of him that had not greyed out with time. Once, his body had been indistinguishable from the summer sunset, and now the dapples of his grey coat have nearly faded to white.
Time, he thinks as he inspects his long-ago injured foreleg. She had promised him time.
Still, he ages.
He doubts. He doubts, and yet he glows.
He tries to close his eyes, to drift back to sleep where at least he does not doubt. But sleep eludes him, as it always does when he wakes from such dreams. Raising his head, the dark- eyed stallion looks at the clear sky overhead, then south to where the sea spreads toward the remnants of Stratos.
He crouches over his hind legs, and with a leap and several hard flaps of his feathered wings, the bird-like Stratosian is aloft. Within a few heartbeats, he disappears into the dark sky.
Ruhr lands some time later, his hooves touching down on the dawn-gold sand. His breathing is quick and his hair and feathers are damp with the sweat of physical exertion and his head is wonderfully, peacefully, clear.
Looking up and down the long beach where they had landed last night, the stallion searches for Demi. She’d chosen this destination, and though he is curious about the Gates he does not intend to venture deeper without the spotted mare.
@Demi
Ruhr glows like that now, glows with light.
Her light. Or is it His?
The Moon overhead is as slim as a blade of grass, and yet the swaying grasses around him are aglow with light that he emanates. This magic was not a gift from Her, after all. He had taken it at Her behest, but he had paid the price.
Is paying the price still, as he surveys the still-dark world around him. He shakes his feathered head, as though the action might dislodge the image of the acolyte’s face from his mind.
The effort only rearranges his colorful mane, crossing the strands of dusky purple with the brighter yellows, twisting the salmon with the rose. Like his wings and the markings along his legs and face, the sunset-colored markings are the only part of him that had not greyed out with time. Once, his body had been indistinguishable from the summer sunset, and now the dapples of his grey coat have nearly faded to white.
Time, he thinks as he inspects his long-ago injured foreleg. She had promised him time.
Still, he ages.
He doubts. He doubts, and yet he glows.
He tries to close his eyes, to drift back to sleep where at least he does not doubt. But sleep eludes him, as it always does when he wakes from such dreams. Raising his head, the dark- eyed stallion looks at the clear sky overhead, then south to where the sea spreads toward the remnants of Stratos.
He crouches over his hind legs, and with a leap and several hard flaps of his feathered wings, the bird-like Stratosian is aloft. Within a few heartbeats, he disappears into the dark sky.
Ruhr lands some time later, his hooves touching down on the dawn-gold sand. His breathing is quick and his hair and feathers are damp with the sweat of physical exertion and his head is wonderfully, peacefully, clear.
Looking up and down the long beach where they had landed last night, the stallion searches for Demi. She’d chosen this destination, and though he is curious about the Gates he does not intend to venture deeper without the spotted mare.
@Demi