03-21-2017, 02:10 PM
Kirin
that girl is a real crowd pleaser
Up with the sun, rising as it did, the soft trilling of birds roused him- he was much like a bird himself at times. It was relaxing, their practiced vocals gently coaxing him from sleep, the first rays of light peeking up over the horizon. It did little to illuminate the forest, just the barest hint of yellow tinted rays filtering through the branches and leaves. It speckled the earth, the cushion of lichen against the earthy floor, leaving dazzling speckles of white-washed yellow- fairy lights.
Kirin didn’t concern himself with the ethereal beauty of the morning sun finding him, he simply woke, stretching his knotted muscles. A yawn slipped past his parted pout, and he blinked his silver eyes, waiting for them to better adjust to what little fluorescence they could find.
Time was not to be wasted, there was always a purpose, a task that must be seen to. This was a task he had trusted only to himself, gathering all the treasures that were still available to him. But he needed more, and he could not laze in the cool of the morning, not when there was work to be done. He must get his hands dirty this time, just a bit, a proverbial dusting if you will and the rest- the rest would take care of itself.
A quick drink, a splash in the ice of the creek that did not flow far from where he rested his beautiful head. Droplets of water sparkled against his feathers as he flicked them, trapping the sun and sending it flying in a shower of diamonds. Then he was gone, slipping out of the cover of the wood, leaving behind the oak sentinels, the pillars of birch that he had grown to know quite intimately. There was always life in the Meadow, that’s where they all gathered too, the lost, those without homes. He needed them to be there, needed them to seek that constant so that he could easily find them.
And the sun is warm on his cold, wet back, evaporating the excess wetness from his skin. Beneath his feet the grass is still cool, dripping with dew and a light fog is nestled against the earth. It is quiet here but the lavender leviathan is not alone, there is another taking cue from the sunrise. His form is familiar, the blackness of his coat, the hollows in his face that Kirin did not take joy in looking at. This one had been in the fire, when the Chamber went up in smoke and natives laid siege to its borders. “Your face is familiar,” he called, trusting his words to slink into the weak spots of his favor. “You served my uncle, did you not, Killdare of the Chamber?”
He had loathed the bay stallion in the end, but he did not need share that, not when he could use his so called ‘family’ to achieve his intentions.
Kirin didn’t concern himself with the ethereal beauty of the morning sun finding him, he simply woke, stretching his knotted muscles. A yawn slipped past his parted pout, and he blinked his silver eyes, waiting for them to better adjust to what little fluorescence they could find.
Time was not to be wasted, there was always a purpose, a task that must be seen to. This was a task he had trusted only to himself, gathering all the treasures that were still available to him. But he needed more, and he could not laze in the cool of the morning, not when there was work to be done. He must get his hands dirty this time, just a bit, a proverbial dusting if you will and the rest- the rest would take care of itself.
A quick drink, a splash in the ice of the creek that did not flow far from where he rested his beautiful head. Droplets of water sparkled against his feathers as he flicked them, trapping the sun and sending it flying in a shower of diamonds. Then he was gone, slipping out of the cover of the wood, leaving behind the oak sentinels, the pillars of birch that he had grown to know quite intimately. There was always life in the Meadow, that’s where they all gathered too, the lost, those without homes. He needed them to be there, needed them to seek that constant so that he could easily find them.
And the sun is warm on his cold, wet back, evaporating the excess wetness from his skin. Beneath his feet the grass is still cool, dripping with dew and a light fog is nestled against the earth. It is quiet here but the lavender leviathan is not alone, there is another taking cue from the sunrise. His form is familiar, the blackness of his coat, the hollows in his face that Kirin did not take joy in looking at. This one had been in the fire, when the Chamber went up in smoke and natives laid siege to its borders. “Your face is familiar,” he called, trusting his words to slink into the weak spots of his favor. “You served my uncle, did you not, Killdare of the Chamber?”
He had loathed the bay stallion in the end, but he did not need share that, not when he could use his so called ‘family’ to achieve his intentions.
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