06-07-2016, 11:24 AM
W Y R M
There are none. There are no inhabitants to break the tender stalks of wildflowers and crush the verdant grasses beneath their hooves. Many times Wyrm has flown the expanse of Beqanna, on wings outstretched and sure, but not for some time has he seen any indication of life or vibrancy below him when he glides over the Gates. This kingdom alone is nearly empty and ripe for the picking. When he takes a similar flight on this particular day, he’s not exactly intending to stop within her borders, but a hint of white catches his eye. As a common sparrow he’s overlooked, but high in the confines of the clouds he changes his sight and peers down at the speck with curiosity.
Life blooms, alone and singularly strange.
From above he shifts, molding back to equine with a coat as dark as sin. His wings stay, mottled brown but he tints them grey and enlarges them so they won’t seem so out of place on his back. Mane and tail follow suit, taking on a silver sheen and then he plummets - lowering rapidly to the earth in a careful spiral while keeping the mare in his sights. She waits by a tree, low-hanging branches nearly obscuring her but Wyrm is never deterred by what he can’t see. Only more intrigued to seek it out. His landing is sharp, silver hooves striking up the earth as he paces ahead to slow his incoming to a halt. What purpose did she have here, so unprotected and unguarded?
“You won’t find them.” He tells her, deepening voice rolling over the flat ground to where she waits. He doesn’t want to get close - not yet. He wants to watch her first, observe the way she walks and the expression in her eyes. The life that sparked in others was always a sort of strange enjoyment to him, because within his own body nothing dwelled. He’d never felt, only preferred the visceral side where instinct took control. He wonders, then, what she’s feeling now. Wonders if he can make her feel things she doesn’t want to feel.
Wonders if he can turn those blue eyes cold and still.
Life blooms, alone and singularly strange.
From above he shifts, molding back to equine with a coat as dark as sin. His wings stay, mottled brown but he tints them grey and enlarges them so they won’t seem so out of place on his back. Mane and tail follow suit, taking on a silver sheen and then he plummets - lowering rapidly to the earth in a careful spiral while keeping the mare in his sights. She waits by a tree, low-hanging branches nearly obscuring her but Wyrm is never deterred by what he can’t see. Only more intrigued to seek it out. His landing is sharp, silver hooves striking up the earth as he paces ahead to slow his incoming to a halt. What purpose did she have here, so unprotected and unguarded?
“You won’t find them.” He tells her, deepening voice rolling over the flat ground to where she waits. He doesn’t want to get close - not yet. He wants to watch her first, observe the way she walks and the expression in her eyes. The life that sparked in others was always a sort of strange enjoyment to him, because within his own body nothing dwelled. He’d never felt, only preferred the visceral side where instinct took control. He wonders, then, what she’s feeling now. Wonders if he can make her feel things she doesn’t want to feel.
Wonders if he can turn those blue eyes cold and still.
she shall crush thy head,
and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel
and thou shalt lie in wait for her heel