06-27-2017, 08:49 PM
you give me something to think about that's not the shit in my head.
He’s becoming her red eyed shadow. If he only had his memories back, he would be disgusted with himself. When had No Crosses Count ever relied on anyone? He had been respected, feared, loved, hated. So many things that he can’t remember, that are lost in the abyss where he had escaped. Recalling nothing, he lives rather freely in this new world. No burdens to weigh him down, no regrets to brood over. Nobody to mourn for. He is truly free. How long will that last?
He’s content for now to follow the weird little group he had been thrusted into as he becomes familiar with Beqanna. There’s something lacking though, a stirring deep in his belly. A need for more but he can’t put his finger on exactly what it is he wants. Ebony whipcord snaps with irritation against scarred hindquarters as he meanders towards the bank of the river. A frown turns at the corner of his lips, eyeing his reflection on the bubbling surface. Why exactly did he have so many scars? They were littered about his youthful and muscular body but he can’t think of ever having a single fight with anyone. It seems like a natural thing, like he would be able to take care of himself. Flee or fight, he would stand and defend. Yes, that feels like something he would do.
But when had he done it before? The evidence is all over his body. It’s these things that do bother him, a tiny nagging in the back of his head. That he’s missing something, just a whisper of a suggestion. It happened when the old man greeted him with foul words and the suggestion that he had relations with his mother. Or when Noct casted him that uneasy stare when he didn’t recognize certain things. Perhaps something was off but for now he lives in denial, ignoring these little red flags. Embracing his ignorance.
The days are getting shorter and colder. Leaves, gold and burnt, fall gently to the forest floor. He walks amongst the silent trees, mud clinging to his hooves as he ambles quietly along the riverbank. He has no desire to ease himself into the freezing waters, not does he need to quench his thirst. He simply enjoys the silence as he explores this new place.
He’s content for now to follow the weird little group he had been thrusted into as he becomes familiar with Beqanna. There’s something lacking though, a stirring deep in his belly. A need for more but he can’t put his finger on exactly what it is he wants. Ebony whipcord snaps with irritation against scarred hindquarters as he meanders towards the bank of the river. A frown turns at the corner of his lips, eyeing his reflection on the bubbling surface. Why exactly did he have so many scars? They were littered about his youthful and muscular body but he can’t think of ever having a single fight with anyone. It seems like a natural thing, like he would be able to take care of himself. Flee or fight, he would stand and defend. Yes, that feels like something he would do.
But when had he done it before? The evidence is all over his body. It’s these things that do bother him, a tiny nagging in the back of his head. That he’s missing something, just a whisper of a suggestion. It happened when the old man greeted him with foul words and the suggestion that he had relations with his mother. Or when Noct casted him that uneasy stare when he didn’t recognize certain things. Perhaps something was off but for now he lives in denial, ignoring these little red flags. Embracing his ignorance.
The days are getting shorter and colder. Leaves, gold and burnt, fall gently to the forest floor. He walks amongst the silent trees, mud clinging to his hooves as he ambles quietly along the riverbank. He has no desire to ease himself into the freezing waters, not does he need to quench his thirst. He simply enjoys the silence as he explores this new place.
no crosses count
i want to do it again