Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
He steps towards the obelisk worshipfully: lips slightly parted, eyes reflecting its images (or perhaps his eyes project the images onto the obelisk). My own eyes are tethered to him, enraptured by the way his breathing slows as if to a halt, by the way I can taste the adrenaline in his blood on the buds of my tongue. I have taken others to this land of dreams - but none before could come close to providing the rush of foreign energy that abides in him: Rodrik.
Come, his voice softly calls. He needn't call. As he steps into the holograph, I step with him, pressing myself to him once more, closing my eyes as I feel my magic pulled from me by the thoughts that become semi-reality. The sensation of having my magic channelled through another being sends a shiver down my spine, as it always has, as it always will: like a two hands pulling out the lining of my stomach in strips from my mouth, causing nerves inside to fire as they never have, sliding through my esophagus and over my tongue until those too come unraveled. Alien.
And then, the pulling stops; the cavity where my stomach once was slowly refills; and his voice comes to me again. We are here. Inhaling, my eyes flutter open, and the first thing I see is his smile. (Not the flowers or the birds, nor the Jungle where I too grew up, not the family whose scent is in the air, not any of it: just his smile, the light in his eyes... Nutmeg.)
"I came to live here when I was a half-yearling," I murmur in reply, smiling back at the red stallion; but something is out of place. Here, in our home, his rotting skin seems out of place - and so with a blink, I sew his flesh together again, weaving the fibers of his being into its original design until he stands before me, both of us as youthful as two-year olds, immortal in the truest way. "The Jungle was my home, too, Uncle." The statement is not possessive, but empathetic; linking us; melding our souls.
Before averting my eyes from his rare and beautiful smile, I step closer until our skin touches; then, I peer at our new surroundings. Ah, the Jungle; my hear leaps at its gnarled, rooted footing, at the vines that snag and pull, at the trees so thick that only dappled sunlight glimmers through their foliage. My nostrils flare and suddenly to our left, the tree-hollow that Kavi raised me in appears. Grinning, I separate from Rodrik and trot to investigate, ducking inside of the dwelling and nosing around at the ground, smelling my childhood self, and my more youthful father (though even then he had been middle aged at best).
Yes, my memories here are nearly strictly good; but as I come out of the hollow and meet Rodrik's eyes again, I falter. Perhaps not all of his memories here are as wholesome as mine. The Jungle flickers around us, as if buffering, in response to my mental misstep; but the image refocuses, and my smile returns to its place.
"It smells like our family, here," I allow when our sides touch again. "You knew them far better than I ever will."
Come, his voice softly calls. He needn't call. As he steps into the holograph, I step with him, pressing myself to him once more, closing my eyes as I feel my magic pulled from me by the thoughts that become semi-reality. The sensation of having my magic channelled through another being sends a shiver down my spine, as it always has, as it always will: like a two hands pulling out the lining of my stomach in strips from my mouth, causing nerves inside to fire as they never have, sliding through my esophagus and over my tongue until those too come unraveled. Alien.
And then, the pulling stops; the cavity where my stomach once was slowly refills; and his voice comes to me again. We are here. Inhaling, my eyes flutter open, and the first thing I see is his smile. (Not the flowers or the birds, nor the Jungle where I too grew up, not the family whose scent is in the air, not any of it: just his smile, the light in his eyes... Nutmeg.)
"I came to live here when I was a half-yearling," I murmur in reply, smiling back at the red stallion; but something is out of place. Here, in our home, his rotting skin seems out of place - and so with a blink, I sew his flesh together again, weaving the fibers of his being into its original design until he stands before me, both of us as youthful as two-year olds, immortal in the truest way. "The Jungle was my home, too, Uncle." The statement is not possessive, but empathetic; linking us; melding our souls.
Before averting my eyes from his rare and beautiful smile, I step closer until our skin touches; then, I peer at our new surroundings. Ah, the Jungle; my hear leaps at its gnarled, rooted footing, at the vines that snag and pull, at the trees so thick that only dappled sunlight glimmers through their foliage. My nostrils flare and suddenly to our left, the tree-hollow that Kavi raised me in appears. Grinning, I separate from Rodrik and trot to investigate, ducking inside of the dwelling and nosing around at the ground, smelling my childhood self, and my more youthful father (though even then he had been middle aged at best).
Yes, my memories here are nearly strictly good; but as I come out of the hollow and meet Rodrik's eyes again, I falter. Perhaps not all of his memories here are as wholesome as mine. The Jungle flickers around us, as if buffering, in response to my mental misstep; but the image refocuses, and my smile returns to its place.
"It smells like our family, here," I allow when our sides touch again. "You knew them far better than I ever will."
Kagerus
sweet nothing
@[Rodrik]
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
dreamweaver