07-25-2017, 04:15 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Bellefair|Cinzel" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.Crevan1_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;padding: 15px;background: #fff; border: 0px solid #000;box-shadow: 0 0 1em #000;}.Crevan2_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 540px; /*frame width*/padding: 15px;background: #fff url("https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/1d/6f/4d/1d6f4d55e55355a358d018d690218c41.jpg");border:0px solid #000;box-shadow: 0 0 3em #000;}.Crevan2_container p {margin: 0;}.Crevan2_image {border: 0px solid #000; /*image border size, style, and color*/}.Crevan2_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; padding: 15px 0; color: #5A8E87;border-top: 1px solid #000;border-bottom: 1px solid #000;}.Crevan2_name {text-align: center;font: 70px 'Cinzel', serif;color: #5A8E87;padding: 0;text-shadow: 0 0 1em #000;}.Crevan2_quote {text-align: center;font: 14px 'Bellefair', serif;color: #2CA9AD;padding: 0;}</style><center><div class="Crevan2_container"><div class="Crevan1_container"><img class="Crevan2_image" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/55/e7/43/55e743df0c173a0252c6fc359f995220.jpg"><p class="Crevan2_name">Crevan</p><p class="Crevan2_quote">We forget all the names that we used to know</p><p class="Crevan2_message">Now the eerie stillness of this place seems to have lost its threatening edge. At the top of the rise Crevan rests, head bobbing softly above the earth where it’s drooped with every labored breath he takes. It’s still dark (this place would never see the sun) and it still feels as if all the air around him has been sucked clean, creating a useless void to house beings that should never roam the <i>real</i> Beqanna. But the purpose of it all eludes him; what was the sense in his being here, aside from defeating impossible foes?
With a rasping sigh he starts again, winding up as a battered machine would. Slowly, his neck pulls a leaden skull up to view the lake properly. It’s depthless expanse seems to dwarf him, turning him into another shadowy silhouette like the other creatures here. He’s not fearsome though - anything but, just a tattered yearling who feels every step he takes towards the surface of the lake with the jarring pain of a thousand hot knives. His youthful muscles, still developing and once fleshy, protest the action with screaming cramps, knotting into hard strings beneath his flayed, washed-out pelt.
To anyone but himself he would seem finished.
Crevan, however, has the heart of a wolf to match the body of one. He’s come so far - so <i>goddamn</i> far and he’ll be damned if he turns back now. His eyes smart, trembling legs stopping him square at the lip of the sloping shore, and bold, hot tears stream silently over the arc of his proud cheeks. <b>“Why?”</b> He asks aloud, the quavering words echoing over the glassy surface of the water. <b>“What do you want from me?!”</b> He demands once more, louder as youthful anguish washes over him.
His silence afterwards yields nothing. Frustrated, he lifts a foot with the intention of traveling along the shoreline, but as soon as he does a noise stops him. The epicenter of the lake has loosed a note - one so pure and unaltered that it not only stops him, it <i>turns</i> him back to the water and steals his bitterness away. The note pours itself out and fills his heart, near brimming, with <i>desire</i>. Crevan feels as if he’s vibrating with the resonance of the sound.
There’s no rhythm to it, but all the same it reminds him of another song; sweet and low like the croon of his kind. Haunting. <i>“Don’t be afraid…”</i> the tune begins and aloud, Crevan hums along, totally unaware that at this moment he’s begun to walk <i>across</i> the surface of the lake. <b>“When the night woolvesss cryyy…”</b> He sings, each hoofstep sinking into the glass surface and holding shape after he moves, smoothing out as the darkness follows behind while a fog envelopes him from ahead.
By the time the crescendo of music has reached its apex Crevan has been totally enveloped by the mist. His sight, much like his thoughts, does not extend beyond the barrier of suspended water molecules yet it can discern the faint makings of <i>something</i> just out of his reach. He feels, in his most primal of thoughts, that it could be another trap and, hardly struggling, tries to stop the advancement of his journey but the song is relentless and now, his desire for an ending is simply too great to ignore.
The final words of the nameless tune slip past his teeth, each foot coming to rest parallel with the other as the boy peers achingly into the dark mass of unnatural mist.
<i>“Dad?”</i> He thinks, the word thrusting through his heart like a sharpened blade.
The pegasus only stares blankly back at him. Like this, the two face each other for wordless moments. Perhaps it was his father - this apparition waiting quietly for interaction. Crevan wouldn’t have known if was truly him either way, he’d seen his sire only once and that memory was supplied by his mother. But it <i>is</i> him, Crevan is <i>sure</i> of it - his heart simply knows without really <i>knowing</i>. Why else would he feel this way, so tongue-tied and useless, when before he’d been nothing but action and fire? Because - well - because Crevan simply can’t believe it.
<i>“This is where you’ve been, the whole time?”</i> The muted gold wonders soundlessly, finding it impossible that any other explanation would suffice. His father must’ve been trapped here, that would be the only logical reason he’d abandoned them! It hurts, (god how it hurts) to think of it even now, but it was true. Canaan had left them - his mother, his twin, and himself - without so much as a goodbye. Where had he been, all those times Crevan had needed a man’s advice? What had he been doing on those lonely nights his mother spent howling her loss to the moon? When Corvus had tested his wings against the wind and looked to Circy for direction, finding none, why hadn’t he come then?
Because … because … <i>because none of them mattered to him.</i>
They never had.
Angry, unbidden tears slip hotly from the corners of his eyes, a choking gag restricting his airway as he struggles to maintain himself. He wouldn’t allow Canaan his tears, not after never being there to wipe them clear in previous times. Instead, he blinks them furiously away and gathers himself as proudly as he can manage for a stallion in his state, tattered and tired as he is, and waits with piercing eyes for the motionless being to say something worth meaning.</p><p class="Crevan2_quote">Then our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow</p></div></center>
With a rasping sigh he starts again, winding up as a battered machine would. Slowly, his neck pulls a leaden skull up to view the lake properly. It’s depthless expanse seems to dwarf him, turning him into another shadowy silhouette like the other creatures here. He’s not fearsome though - anything but, just a tattered yearling who feels every step he takes towards the surface of the lake with the jarring pain of a thousand hot knives. His youthful muscles, still developing and once fleshy, protest the action with screaming cramps, knotting into hard strings beneath his flayed, washed-out pelt.
To anyone but himself he would seem finished.
Crevan, however, has the heart of a wolf to match the body of one. He’s come so far - so <i>goddamn</i> far and he’ll be damned if he turns back now. His eyes smart, trembling legs stopping him square at the lip of the sloping shore, and bold, hot tears stream silently over the arc of his proud cheeks. <b>“Why?”</b> He asks aloud, the quavering words echoing over the glassy surface of the water. <b>“What do you want from me?!”</b> He demands once more, louder as youthful anguish washes over him.
His silence afterwards yields nothing. Frustrated, he lifts a foot with the intention of traveling along the shoreline, but as soon as he does a noise stops him. The epicenter of the lake has loosed a note - one so pure and unaltered that it not only stops him, it <i>turns</i> him back to the water and steals his bitterness away. The note pours itself out and fills his heart, near brimming, with <i>desire</i>. Crevan feels as if he’s vibrating with the resonance of the sound.
There’s no rhythm to it, but all the same it reminds him of another song; sweet and low like the croon of his kind. Haunting. <i>“Don’t be afraid…”</i> the tune begins and aloud, Crevan hums along, totally unaware that at this moment he’s begun to walk <i>across</i> the surface of the lake. <b>“When the night woolvesss cryyy…”</b> He sings, each hoofstep sinking into the glass surface and holding shape after he moves, smoothing out as the darkness follows behind while a fog envelopes him from ahead.
By the time the crescendo of music has reached its apex Crevan has been totally enveloped by the mist. His sight, much like his thoughts, does not extend beyond the barrier of suspended water molecules yet it can discern the faint makings of <i>something</i> just out of his reach. He feels, in his most primal of thoughts, that it could be another trap and, hardly struggling, tries to stop the advancement of his journey but the song is relentless and now, his desire for an ending is simply too great to ignore.
The final words of the nameless tune slip past his teeth, each foot coming to rest parallel with the other as the boy peers achingly into the dark mass of unnatural mist.
<i>“Dad?”</i> He thinks, the word thrusting through his heart like a sharpened blade.
The pegasus only stares blankly back at him. Like this, the two face each other for wordless moments. Perhaps it was his father - this apparition waiting quietly for interaction. Crevan wouldn’t have known if was truly him either way, he’d seen his sire only once and that memory was supplied by his mother. But it <i>is</i> him, Crevan is <i>sure</i> of it - his heart simply knows without really <i>knowing</i>. Why else would he feel this way, so tongue-tied and useless, when before he’d been nothing but action and fire? Because - well - because Crevan simply can’t believe it.
<i>“This is where you’ve been, the whole time?”</i> The muted gold wonders soundlessly, finding it impossible that any other explanation would suffice. His father must’ve been trapped here, that would be the only logical reason he’d abandoned them! It hurts, (god how it hurts) to think of it even now, but it was true. Canaan had left them - his mother, his twin, and himself - without so much as a goodbye. Where had he been, all those times Crevan had needed a man’s advice? What had he been doing on those lonely nights his mother spent howling her loss to the moon? When Corvus had tested his wings against the wind and looked to Circy for direction, finding none, why hadn’t he come then?
Because … because … <i>because none of them mattered to him.</i>
They never had.
Angry, unbidden tears slip hotly from the corners of his eyes, a choking gag restricting his airway as he struggles to maintain himself. He wouldn’t allow Canaan his tears, not after never being there to wipe them clear in previous times. Instead, he blinks them furiously away and gathers himself as proudly as he can manage for a stallion in his state, tattered and tired as he is, and waits with piercing eyes for the motionless being to say something worth meaning.</p><p class="Crevan2_quote">Then our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow</p></div></center>