08-15-2016, 12:43 AM
i swallow my doubt, turn it inside out - find nothing but faith in nothing.
But yet, the fixtures are of utmost importance - a steady, calming presence that quells the tireless waves that wash over the worn, tired reams of golden wheat and the moist, supple soil. Every tide of violence and unrest that washes upon the very proverbial shores pulls away the fickle, rolling sediment away, leaving the land more barren with each sweeping undulation. In spite of the erosion that time etches to heavily into history, there are those who remain - impervious to the salty seawater of change; impossible to wash away with the remnants of old blood, shattered bones and broken promises.
He is no different - a steadfast beacon; as bright and as shining as the warm sun herself. Her eye settles heavily on him, studying the way the muscles in his neck flex and move beneath his skin, and the way his dark tresses move with the soft sway of the summer breeze. He reaches over to press the flat of his muzzle against her shoulder, pulling her back to the present moment as his words echo suddenly within her mind. I am a man of mystery, he says, and something within her heart clenches tightly, though she cannot identify its reasoning.
Though her smile had fallen away as she slipped away into a brief reverie, it returns now, alight again with mischief. A sharp laugh emerges from her as she shakes her slender neck to and fro, glancing to him coyly from beneath her own ashen locks, which fall aimlessly across her sharp features. She was fiercely independent, abrasive and scathing - nothing of what hid away within his soulful eyes, and yet she is drawn in by him. The way his eyes bore into her own unnerve her for a slight moment, and she finds herself averting her gaze to pay special mind to her feathers, feigning disdain at having to preen an already perfectly-placed feather.
Alas, her voices does not give away the warmth that washes over her - shyness? She knew naught; she had never felt it before - and his words give her reprieve from her own uncertainty. When her eyes meet his again, there is a carefree, lighthearted grin playing across his darkened mouth, and amusement lights up her dark eyes again. "The last?" She breathes inquisitively, her mind drifting to the lore told to her in her youth.
Though she kept her delicate craft quiet, her ability to mend, bend and boldly twist the bones of both the living and the dead leaves her undeniably curious and unsated in matters of the dead - to think that he might have once been? Curiosity pries at her seams. "You have died, then? Tell me about it. Tell me about how it all ended, mystery man - and how you came to be again."
He is no different - a steadfast beacon; as bright and as shining as the warm sun herself. Her eye settles heavily on him, studying the way the muscles in his neck flex and move beneath his skin, and the way his dark tresses move with the soft sway of the summer breeze. He reaches over to press the flat of his muzzle against her shoulder, pulling her back to the present moment as his words echo suddenly within her mind. I am a man of mystery, he says, and something within her heart clenches tightly, though she cannot identify its reasoning.
Though her smile had fallen away as she slipped away into a brief reverie, it returns now, alight again with mischief. A sharp laugh emerges from her as she shakes her slender neck to and fro, glancing to him coyly from beneath her own ashen locks, which fall aimlessly across her sharp features. She was fiercely independent, abrasive and scathing - nothing of what hid away within his soulful eyes, and yet she is drawn in by him. The way his eyes bore into her own unnerve her for a slight moment, and she finds herself averting her gaze to pay special mind to her feathers, feigning disdain at having to preen an already perfectly-placed feather.
Alas, her voices does not give away the warmth that washes over her - shyness? She knew naught; she had never felt it before - and his words give her reprieve from her own uncertainty. When her eyes meet his again, there is a carefree, lighthearted grin playing across his darkened mouth, and amusement lights up her dark eyes again. "The last?" She breathes inquisitively, her mind drifting to the lore told to her in her youth.
Though she kept her delicate craft quiet, her ability to mend, bend and boldly twist the bones of both the living and the dead leaves her undeniably curious and unsated in matters of the dead - to think that he might have once been? Curiosity pries at her seams. "You have died, then? Tell me about it. Tell me about how it all ended, mystery man - and how you came to be again."
Ellyse