04-24-2020, 07:40 PM
I shouldn’t.
Shouldn’t what?
I shouldn’t be out here, shouldn’t be wandering, shouldn’t be wondering, shouldn’t be asking questions that I’m not confident I want answers to.
Why not?
I just shouldn’t.
Shouldn’t what?
Pausing, her line of sight carries southbound, past the groves of sentient monsters resting on Taiga’s grounds. Somewhere beyond laid Loess, and further, still, the places where vagabonds traveled and gathered. Skyward her eyes turned, becoming lost in the vastness of pure, simple blue. And for the shortest of moments, she understands the peace of clarity through something so common and mundane.
“Be here”, she breathes, answering her own question.
As it had already done before, the river led her south further and further until the shadows of Taiga cast across her back have no choice but to let her go, devoured by denser ones shed by the highest peaks of Hyaline. Eventually, the jeweled peaks release her too, and she is lost between the reaching shadows of the Forest. When the River sprawls wide and volatile in front of her, the ragged woman crosses at its lowest point, drawn back to the place where she had first thought herself found.
Going backward to move forward. How contrary.
The right path had been simple enough to find and Breckin joined the withering oak that had sheltered her before, resting her head against the coarseness of its bark. There was no gentleness when she leaned against it, forcing herself into it until she felt the pain of splintered wood pushing between her eyes, testing the bounds and solidity of the sentinel that stood a lonely guard. A small path of blood wound its way down and into her eye, burning and bitter she closed them tightly, hardly minding the sting as she pressed harder.
There’s no give, and Breckin finds a small solace in its absoluteness, something aged but still concrete and unyielding in spite of everything it had endured. But there is no mind or heart to become plagued, no burden of regret or remorse to darken it, no need to check and dredge out the slime of guilt that came to be harbored there. It was alive, but unfeeling.
With a sigh the haggard mare stepped away, turning to rest a boney shoulder against the trunk.
There was nothing here for her.
The leopard mare is about to shove off and try to make her way elsewhere when there’s an abrupt absence of the evening symphony. She’s reminded of the time in the Forest where she had ran into her alleged son and had denied everything that he had claimed of her - all for the sake of Arthas, the phantom grey stallion. Her mood dampens and sours tenfold, but still, she steadies herself against the inevitable. “Might as well join me,” she said morosely, turning exhausted eyes towards them, “I’m not going anywhere fast anyway.”
@[Wolfbane]
Shouldn’t what?
I shouldn’t be out here, shouldn’t be wandering, shouldn’t be wondering, shouldn’t be asking questions that I’m not confident I want answers to.
Why not?
I just shouldn’t.
Shouldn’t what?
Pausing, her line of sight carries southbound, past the groves of sentient monsters resting on Taiga’s grounds. Somewhere beyond laid Loess, and further, still, the places where vagabonds traveled and gathered. Skyward her eyes turned, becoming lost in the vastness of pure, simple blue. And for the shortest of moments, she understands the peace of clarity through something so common and mundane.
“Be here”, she breathes, answering her own question.
As it had already done before, the river led her south further and further until the shadows of Taiga cast across her back have no choice but to let her go, devoured by denser ones shed by the highest peaks of Hyaline. Eventually, the jeweled peaks release her too, and she is lost between the reaching shadows of the Forest. When the River sprawls wide and volatile in front of her, the ragged woman crosses at its lowest point, drawn back to the place where she had first thought herself found.
Going backward to move forward. How contrary.
The right path had been simple enough to find and Breckin joined the withering oak that had sheltered her before, resting her head against the coarseness of its bark. There was no gentleness when she leaned against it, forcing herself into it until she felt the pain of splintered wood pushing between her eyes, testing the bounds and solidity of the sentinel that stood a lonely guard. A small path of blood wound its way down and into her eye, burning and bitter she closed them tightly, hardly minding the sting as she pressed harder.
There’s no give, and Breckin finds a small solace in its absoluteness, something aged but still concrete and unyielding in spite of everything it had endured. But there is no mind or heart to become plagued, no burden of regret or remorse to darken it, no need to check and dredge out the slime of guilt that came to be harbored there. It was alive, but unfeeling.
With a sigh the haggard mare stepped away, turning to rest a boney shoulder against the trunk.
There was nothing here for her.
The leopard mare is about to shove off and try to make her way elsewhere when there’s an abrupt absence of the evening symphony. She’s reminded of the time in the Forest where she had ran into her alleged son and had denied everything that he had claimed of her - all for the sake of Arthas, the phantom grey stallion. Her mood dampens and sours tenfold, but still, she steadies herself against the inevitable. “Might as well join me,” she said morosely, turning exhausted eyes towards them, “I’m not going anywhere fast anyway.”
@[Wolfbane]
