05-12-2015, 03:34 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-12-2015, 03:38 PM by Nihlus.
Edit Reason: typos
)
They are close, but in the next moment, they are lightyears apart. Their dark god sends them far above the vapours which Nihlus commands, far away from the powers which solidify Nihlus as... Nihlus. The feeling of being torn from himself is altogether unholy; he feels dirty, dirtier than he has felt flirting with any man or drowning any small bug with a tsunami.
But he must find her.
The stars are around him, beautiful, stunning, indescribably and dangerous; but he must not look too long. Beautiful are they, but they are cold, cold, cold. Nihlus must seek the warmth, He said so. The memory of the grey stallion in his mind urges Nihlus into action, urges his muscles into function. Space is cold, he thinks. There must be warmth somewhere. Flailing momentarily, Nihlus attempts to swim through the nothingness, through the emptiness. But he cannot. He looks to the others, confusion clouding his glowing blue eyes. He has never been to space.
Help me.
Throat clenching slightly, Nihlus closes his eyes and attempts to see through his skin. It is so cold. His bones seem to shatter in the lack of heat, but something keeps him together, keeps them all together, and he must assume that it is the dark god. Clenching his eyes now along with his throat, the bay-black son of Father Magic and Mother Spring begins feeling.
It takes time. For what could have been hours or days, he floats aimlessly, kicking hopelessly when he imagined something. In the end, when he fears that the bark on his legs will turn into ice and all will have been for naught, a warmth comes to him. His eyes are still closed - his eyelashes are frozen together, but underneath, his eyes struggle to be free, but to no avail. Hyperventilating, freezing, and struggling towards the heat which warms his hooves and then his hocks until his whole shoulders have regained feeling. And soon, his eyelashes thaw and he can see. And what he see cannot be described - it was beautiful and terrible all at once, configured of colours which he cannot find words for, made up of figures which he could not exactly describe in the heat - and cold - of the moment.
With one last tired kick, the boy arrives. He is here. But where he is, he does not know. Really, it is simply by luck that he finds himself here at all. But whether the luck is good or bad, is yet to be seen.
ooc - uhm yeah? this happened.
But he must find her.
The stars are around him, beautiful, stunning, indescribably and dangerous; but he must not look too long. Beautiful are they, but they are cold, cold, cold. Nihlus must seek the warmth, He said so. The memory of the grey stallion in his mind urges Nihlus into action, urges his muscles into function. Space is cold, he thinks. There must be warmth somewhere. Flailing momentarily, Nihlus attempts to swim through the nothingness, through the emptiness. But he cannot. He looks to the others, confusion clouding his glowing blue eyes. He has never been to space.
Help me.
Throat clenching slightly, Nihlus closes his eyes and attempts to see through his skin. It is so cold. His bones seem to shatter in the lack of heat, but something keeps him together, keeps them all together, and he must assume that it is the dark god. Clenching his eyes now along with his throat, the bay-black son of Father Magic and Mother Spring begins feeling.
It takes time. For what could have been hours or days, he floats aimlessly, kicking hopelessly when he imagined something. In the end, when he fears that the bark on his legs will turn into ice and all will have been for naught, a warmth comes to him. His eyes are still closed - his eyelashes are frozen together, but underneath, his eyes struggle to be free, but to no avail. Hyperventilating, freezing, and struggling towards the heat which warms his hooves and then his hocks until his whole shoulders have regained feeling. And soon, his eyelashes thaw and he can see. And what he see cannot be described - it was beautiful and terrible all at once, configured of colours which he cannot find words for, made up of figures which he could not exactly describe in the heat - and cold - of the moment.
With one last tired kick, the boy arrives. He is here. But where he is, he does not know. Really, it is simply by luck that he finds himself here at all. But whether the luck is good or bad, is yet to be seen.
ooc - uhm yeah? this happened.