04-23-2015, 01:47 PM
all things are possible
even the worst of things
even the worst of things
Though the blue colt has developed a better sense of good and evil and all the various shades in between, it is still something he strives to understand (of course, he strives to understand everything he can, but this is one of his earliest, one of his most earnest fascinations). His struggle to place everyone into a category is reminiscent of trying to zip shut a suitcase that has been stuffed too full. No matter how he tries, pushing, kicking, sitting on that darn suitcase, he just can’t seem to make it all fit. And so he tries harder to understand. Carnage and Core, they are easy. They zip right up, like only a few items in a large suitcase. But it is those like Librette that fascinate him. That defy definition. And so he muddles through, trying to make them fit in a world of misfits.
For now though, he lets them fall where they may, recognizing the futility of agonizing over the indefinable. For now, he simply listens to the chestnut mare as she attempts to explain death. And though her explanation does not fully satisfy the curiosity raging within him, for now it will do. He knows that one day in the future, he will find out exactly what death feels like. And at the moment, he does not wish to linger. There is still too much life to be lived.
When Librette asks her final questions, he recognizes the rhetorical nature of it. But he chooses to answer anyway.
Why not you?
A fond smile touches his lips as he reaches out to bump her softly with his muzzle. His dark brown eyes linger on her for several long moments before shifting to the gnarled tree. Moving forward he slowly circles the tree, gaze moving along the ragged trunk, his dark head occasionally jutting forward to sniff or touch the tree. He can feel, in his bones, that there is something odd, something unique about this tree. But every other sense tells him only that this is an old, twisted, but otherwise normal tree. Returning to Librette’s side, he stares at the tree, slight dissatisfaction evident in the depths of his gaze.
It’s just so weird. It doesn’t look, or taste, or smell special. But it feels special.
For now though, he lets them fall where they may, recognizing the futility of agonizing over the indefinable. For now, he simply listens to the chestnut mare as she attempts to explain death. And though her explanation does not fully satisfy the curiosity raging within him, for now it will do. He knows that one day in the future, he will find out exactly what death feels like. And at the moment, he does not wish to linger. There is still too much life to be lived.
When Librette asks her final questions, he recognizes the rhetorical nature of it. But he chooses to answer anyway.
Why not you?
A fond smile touches his lips as he reaches out to bump her softly with his muzzle. His dark brown eyes linger on her for several long moments before shifting to the gnarled tree. Moving forward he slowly circles the tree, gaze moving along the ragged trunk, his dark head occasionally jutting forward to sniff or touch the tree. He can feel, in his bones, that there is something odd, something unique about this tree. But every other sense tells him only that this is an old, twisted, but otherwise normal tree. Returning to Librette’s side, he stares at the tree, slight dissatisfaction evident in the depths of his gaze.
It’s just so weird. It doesn’t look, or taste, or smell special. But it feels special.
shahrizai