Set
When he returns to these old haunts, it is quiet, the slip of a blade between bones. The foothills of the Mountain, where the unrelenting river wends its way between the Meadow and the Forest, are where he found himself whiling away his days – as if one day his home might reappear just as suddenly as it had disappeared. But this place will never again be the Beqanna of his youth, the Chamber and all of its memories swallowed hungrily by the passage of time, the erosion of war and magic. He makes his way down the goat path, his steps instinctively silenced, his scarred body lined with the wild confidence of a master of his craft and a dozen lifetimes of experiences.
The sky is just barely lightening when the steep trail begins to level out. A thick fog drifts along the surface of the River, seeping out onto its banks to eddy around his legs and creep up his sides and over his back. It is cold, clinging to the matted dreads of his mane just as the loneliness clings to his soul, filling his lungs with the dampness of fall and aimlessness. It muffles the sound of the River but he finds its edge easy enough, his senses naturally heightened. In no hurry, he wades ankle-deep into a shallow ford, dropping his head to get a drink.
As he drinks, his eyes close. When he closes his eyes she is there, nutmeg just as bright as his own and sparkling with a mischief outmatched only by his own, and his body reacts sharply, viscerally. His head snaps up so hard the vertebrae pops, his eyes still closed, water spilling from his mouth. “Nera,” he breathes reverently. He warms as Nazul slips alongside him, the scent of flowers and fire filling his lungs. Generally fearless, he fears now, fears that they will slip away just as easily as they have come, but the memories of long-lost pieces of his soul flood and surround him. Bright eyes strain forward underneath the mismatched white and black of his lids, as if he can beckon his little roan lover closer with the formidable force of his will. Muscles stilled beneath his pockmarked coat, his skin reaches for the intangible touch of his phoenix, as if here, too, his will can draw her across the reaches and return her to his side. He does not know how long he stands there, his breath suspended in his lungs … His hearts thrums uncontrollably in his chest as they begin to fade, slipping away from him despite his desperate clinging to their ethereal presence.
When he finally opens his eyes, he is alone yet again, his surroundings speaking of hours passed in the space of few moments. The fog has been almost completely burned away by the sun that now hangs lazily in the clear mid-morning sky. With a low snort, he drinks again before turning back to the bank from where he came, trying to quell the despairing thrum of a soul untethered.
The sky is just barely lightening when the steep trail begins to level out. A thick fog drifts along the surface of the River, seeping out onto its banks to eddy around his legs and creep up his sides and over his back. It is cold, clinging to the matted dreads of his mane just as the loneliness clings to his soul, filling his lungs with the dampness of fall and aimlessness. It muffles the sound of the River but he finds its edge easy enough, his senses naturally heightened. In no hurry, he wades ankle-deep into a shallow ford, dropping his head to get a drink.
As he drinks, his eyes close. When he closes his eyes she is there, nutmeg just as bright as his own and sparkling with a mischief outmatched only by his own, and his body reacts sharply, viscerally. His head snaps up so hard the vertebrae pops, his eyes still closed, water spilling from his mouth. “Nera,” he breathes reverently. He warms as Nazul slips alongside him, the scent of flowers and fire filling his lungs. Generally fearless, he fears now, fears that they will slip away just as easily as they have come, but the memories of long-lost pieces of his soul flood and surround him. Bright eyes strain forward underneath the mismatched white and black of his lids, as if he can beckon his little roan lover closer with the formidable force of his will. Muscles stilled beneath his pockmarked coat, his skin reaches for the intangible touch of his phoenix, as if here, too, his will can draw her across the reaches and return her to his side. He does not know how long he stands there, his breath suspended in his lungs … His hearts thrums uncontrollably in his chest as they begin to fade, slipping away from him despite his desperate clinging to their ethereal presence.
When he finally opens his eyes, he is alone yet again, his surroundings speaking of hours passed in the space of few moments. The fog has been almost completely burned away by the sun that now hangs lazily in the clear mid-morning sky. With a low snort, he drinks again before turning back to the bank from where he came, trying to quell the despairing thrum of a soul untethered.
oof, so rusty. <3
