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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    you say your love for me has waned from the storm; any
    #1

    well, I'm a lion in the haze and the lamb in the lightning
    oh, these spears and chains of flames around my neck are tightening

     
    Alek’s wanderings were taking him further and further from the forest, from the meadow, from the places where he most commonly haunted. Part of it was boredom. He would be the first to admit that. There were only so many companions one could meet in those places; there were only so many ways you could pass the time. Sure, he had some interesting encounters there—interactions that had sparked something in his chest, gave his wild mind something to chew on—but they had been few and far between.

    He needed something else. He needed new challenges, new scenery, even perhaps a new home. Not that having a home had ever truly appealed to his vagabond heart. He preferred his rootless lifestyle, the ability to pick up and leave whenever he so chose, the chance to wake up each day and carve out his own journey—but even he could not deny the restlessness in his limbs, the ache in his bones. The need.

    It was that gnawing irritation that drove him to this forest, his powerful body weaving through the trees with ease, his dual-colored eyes flashing beneath his wild forelock. Something about the shadows, the fog, the trees that grew as thick as most trees grew tall called to him, stirred something in his chest. A power that was locked away, a power that bit at him, clawing for purchase in his mind. Someday, soon, he would unlock it again, would bring that panther out of him, would hand himself over to that feral call.

    But not for now—

    Not yet.

    Instead, it remained locked in his chest, trapped behind ribs and sinew and time. It left him irritated and caged, his dark face shifting imperceptibly as he came to a stop near a particularly large redwood. The lines of his body were drawn up with tension, as if he was motion even though he was still, and he did his best to wait. For someone to come greet him or for him to decide to leave—even he wasn’t sure yet.

    Aleksandr

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    Messages In This Thread
    you say your love for me has waned from the storm; any - by aleksandr - 03-15-2017, 12:38 AM



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