09-25-2015, 06:38 PM
All things are possible, even the worst of things.
He thinks that he might suffocate if he has to stay confined within the Deserts any longer. It is ironic, considering they are rather known for their wide open spaces. But it is not the amount of space that brings about this sense of suffocation. No, it is the loss, the pain of the feelings bombarding him like well-aimed missiles. He feels it too keenly still, causing such a sense of loneliness and devastation that he simply cannot remain.
And so, as he crosses that sandy border, he breaths deeply of the crisp air, willing those swirling emotions to settle, to still so that he might have some manner of respite. What he needs, he thinks, is some company. And so he turns in the direction of the meadow.
The grassy expanse filled with souls from all corners of Beqanna gives him a sense of comfort, of welcome. He had spent many hours, many days, here when he was a youth. It had nearly become his home. While he would not trade in his Desert home for this place again (he belongs there, has a purpose, giving his once driftless life meaning), it feels good to be back here, to see what he had given up.
He is content merely standing there, drinking in the sight before him, until a figure dashes in front of him, sweat gleaming upon her dark coat. He is startled at first. One would think he had been paying close attention to his surroundings, given the way he had been looking around. But the truth is, he had not been. He rarely ever is. Hence the reason he is not a warrior, despite the fact that he is built like one.
She comes to a halt, devastation upon her features. It is an expression he recognizes, for he has felt it all too often of late. That alone induces him to approach. Isn’t it true that misery loves company?
The grin that so often adorns his features is conspicuously absent today. Not that she would know that, as they had never before met. But those that did know him would immediately see that something is wrong simply by the expression on his features. Even those that didn’t know him might be able to deduce such a thing. He rather tends to wear his emotions upon his sleeve.
Tell me about it.
He had heard her quiet words, and even in his grief, his ever-present humor cannot seem to be suppressed. Perhaps this is the wrong time and place, but then, he’s always been very good at saying inappropriate things.
Are you ok?
At least he is capable of some seriousness (albeit less often than he should be).
And so, as he crosses that sandy border, he breaths deeply of the crisp air, willing those swirling emotions to settle, to still so that he might have some manner of respite. What he needs, he thinks, is some company. And so he turns in the direction of the meadow.
The grassy expanse filled with souls from all corners of Beqanna gives him a sense of comfort, of welcome. He had spent many hours, many days, here when he was a youth. It had nearly become his home. While he would not trade in his Desert home for this place again (he belongs there, has a purpose, giving his once driftless life meaning), it feels good to be back here, to see what he had given up.
He is content merely standing there, drinking in the sight before him, until a figure dashes in front of him, sweat gleaming upon her dark coat. He is startled at first. One would think he had been paying close attention to his surroundings, given the way he had been looking around. But the truth is, he had not been. He rarely ever is. Hence the reason he is not a warrior, despite the fact that he is built like one.
She comes to a halt, devastation upon her features. It is an expression he recognizes, for he has felt it all too often of late. That alone induces him to approach. Isn’t it true that misery loves company?
The grin that so often adorns his features is conspicuously absent today. Not that she would know that, as they had never before met. But those that did know him would immediately see that something is wrong simply by the expression on his features. Even those that didn’t know him might be able to deduce such a thing. He rather tends to wear his emotions upon his sleeve.
Tell me about it.
He had heard her quiet words, and even in his grief, his ever-present humor cannot seem to be suppressed. Perhaps this is the wrong time and place, but then, he’s always been very good at saying inappropriate things.
Are you ok?
At least he is capable of some seriousness (albeit less often than he should be).
shahrizai
hestoni x scorch