06-04-2017, 01:46 PM
Canaan
so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
But he had come looking for her.The once serene ripple of the waters’ edge had coiled around her so tightly, and pulled her deep within its depths, and for hours, for days he had searched the crystalline shore for any semblance of movement – for any sign of her presence. His heart ached – she had been swallowed whole, taken from him with little else but the echo of her frightened scream left behind, ringing in his ears.
Could he have prevented it; could he have stopped it? He knew nothing of the technique of controlling a water source; he only knew how to harness wind and he is left hopeless and restless, with frustration settling into the marrow of his weary bones as the hours and days go by. A swelling of dread eventually filled the vacant crevices of his chest, stifling his beating heart, stirring a longing ache deep within – tucked within the delicate tissue, where his proverbial emotions lie.
Eventually, he managed to draw himself away from the mellow shoreline, with one final, yearning glance – he had waited long enough, and though he knew what fate might have caught her in its clutches, he refused to permit his mind to linger on it. He searched, aimlessly, for days, for weeks, and eventually, time had simply melded together – dawn into dusk, autumn into winter, and eventually he lost track entirely.
The thin and frigid air of winter had swept beneath the expanse of his wings, and the gentle blooming vegetation of spring had lapped gently at his legs – and as the warmth of the summer sun beats down on his golden skin, still, he searches. He had traversed the land, from one sea to the next, with little sign of her, but a tendril of hope is stoked still within him, like the flickering of an ever-burning flame.
He never moves too far away from water – any water. The ocean, a lake, even the smallest, trickling stream. If he were to find her, his seemingly illogical mind insisted, it would be near the very source that had taken her from him so long ago.
And it is there, nestled beneath the thicket canopy, as his gold-flecked eyes tiredly searching the roaring, unyielding waters that he is startled from his restless reverie. There she is, with rivulets of water trickling down the gleaming emerald of her skin, and wet, tangled navy tresses pressed against her neck. She is more beautiful than his memory recalled, and his heart is beating rampantly against the confinement of his rib cage.
He does not hesitate – it is only a mere two-beated stride that carries him to her, the length of his gilded body sliding up against hers, his lips seeking the curve of her cheek. He presses the flatted end of his velvet nose to her neck, inhaling the scent of her, feeling the heat of her skin against his own.
”Circinae, I thought – it doesn’t matter what I thought,” he murmurs mid-sentence, seeking her pale blue eyes. ”I looked everywhere for you;” (and he had) ”you’re here – you found me.”
and we never even know we have the key.