05-28-2015, 05:23 AM
nykeln
html © dante.
| there's no hope for us, we speak in tongues, |
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Beneath the ivory blanket lurked the remains of what I guessed was rich emerald blades, tasty, succulent. I can smell what once was and as I pull my head to the side to view the groups coupling up, departing ways along beaten tracks, I realise that this is just where I guessed. Not too bad for an in brain navigation. But alas, all the journeying, the snow making it that much harder, pushing myself further and further, it was exhausting. Dried sweat marred my ebony flanks, a thin layer of perspiration knotted my mane. Bits of twigs and decaying leaves looked like the latest accessory stop my head, braided by the wind into my locks. That sure is something. Mother preaching on about beauty, how it defines most, how it means so much. And here I was looking like I'd been dragged through a hedge... Well that was true. I can guarantee she turns in her grave. I shake my head, lowering my muzzle and scratching at my sudden feathers, as I lift my head, my gaze shifts, through the veil of mussed forelock I see the vastness of the meadow, then the broad expanse of what would have been a flowing little lake. It occurs to me, as I slap my lips together, just how dry and parched I was. Legs twist and slide, falling over myself I charge through the snow, bounding, a mess of black hair and debris, I fly through the meadow, dusty white flying up like torrents as the wind takes a grasp of it all, cold, icy, it kisses my pelt with s bittersweet kiss. Soon I am by the lake, a river, it's solid, the only remnants are frosty reeds standing on end, through the thick ice. I snort, blowing billowed breath in frosty clouds. I lower myself, knees down I crawl down the bank and edge closer to the lake. A tentative foot raises, a curious eye, keen and attuned makes certain I have a sure foot, and my front hoof comes down. Once. Twice. Third times the charm. The ice splinters, thick shards spluttering with icy water droplets. The hiss, the icy waters quivering beneath the thick shards of frost. The way it cracked, shattered. It's like a serenade to my ears. I bow my head, and drink, thoroughly and with the want of a parched throat. A drink that feels like it's my first in years. The cold waters chill my insides, but it's the sort of welcoming, bitter chill that makes you feel alive. - x -
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| blacker than the sun, no death can touch the crooked young the [lone] dark star of [nowhere] |