05-21-2017, 06:12 PM
So a good chunk of Beqanna has fallen into the sea. This is the latest news, really, as well as his home being effectively absorbed as a common land – to be travelled and open to all. This doesn’t discomfort him, now. At first the thought of it being like the meadow or the forest made him cringe. He didn’t want to share space, was his thinking. This will not have to happen, he soothed himself later on and now he likes the idea of open borders and hide-aways just for him. The more, the merrier is the new found philosophy. Today he moves in the buggy heat through the blue-bell patches of forest filled with indigo carpets and green moss-dressed tree trunks. The deer keep the forest tamed and so only the old, strong trees survive. This particular path he’s chosen is surrounded by mostly oaks, maples, ash and beech with a few ancient tamaracks. He’s planning on having a look around today, starting with the field. The good ol’ field is usually good for some fun or at least a good watch. The population seems to be bare bones lately and these roads have no other travelers on them. He finds this odd. The faeries are slowly draining Beqanna, the epiphany sinks in and he feels a dreadful wave of heaviness swallow him. Time for a nap. Nothing better to whisk away your fits of depression than a good nappy. He steps off the path and into the emerald corridors between the gnarled trunks. There must be a perfect bed around here somewhere, surely. “Hello.” A syrupy voice calls out to him from somewhere off in the distance. When she appears flowers spread from her presence. Bluets, forget-me-nots, ajuga and many other little ground covering blooms web from where the small black mare stands. Wysteria blooms hang from her mane and tail, her coat and her long spiraling hair black as a moonless night. Her color unbroken by freckles or serrated markings, only void black. “Hello there handsome.” She woos him with dark green eyes that match the wet moss he stands upon. She lures him with a song as she moves in closer, talking to him, drawing his name from his mouth as she lets him touch her all over. She leads him away, further, further, further into the dappled light of the ancient woodland. Giant blooms, small blooms, bright ones, pastel ones, trumpets, vines – endless varieties of colorful flowers take over the blue-bell and moss carpet. The seductive woman returns his touches, cooing and giggling, dragging him down into a soft bed of sweet woodruff and showering him with lilac blooms in all their varying shades. The smell of coital affairs, sweaty, magical and fun, mixed elegantly with the smell of lilacs and hobble-bush and many other sweet innocent things. They do their thing a few more tireless times and flop down after for a little snooze wrapped in each other and a palette of vibrant colors. When he wakes it is day time still, the beds of flowers gone, she’s gone and only a few dark purple lilacs remain tied into his dready mane. He brings himself to his feet and shakes off the tired feeling, letting his blood flow and his mind working. His loins still feel the woman, further assurance of her being real, besides the fragrant violet flowers of course. He follows his inner compass to the open fields ahead, his original destination. Almost dazed, but so very satisfied, he walks lazily along. A happy strut, you could say, forgetting the flowers strewn through his long thick hair. Voices catch his ear and he stops like a deer caught off guard, meeting the pair of woman some feet above him on a hill with his teal eyes. They appear to be staring down at him – he squints at them, puzzled. He looks beyond where he stands to see if maybe there is someone behind him…no, it’s only them. The mares, him. With his gentlemanly thirsts quenched for the time being he approaches with only company in thought, even though it is the field he really has nothing to offer but good company, some fun hidden spots and some really fun intercourse on tap. He knows the rest have Kingdoms and ranks and Kings and Queens in mind…something he’s never wanted to happily put down his throat. He doesn’t like to be the one on his knees, really. “Beautiful sunset?” He crests the small hill beside the women, his eyes with the roan first and then the buckskin. A breeze sweeps through and brushes the small biting flies away from them for a few minutes. Chem’s tail remains active, swatting across his speckled hips tentatively. He looks out to where their gazes are or were when he first saw them and notices the vast emptiness. Like the field’s bones have been picked clean. It is absurdly quiet…absurd for the field to not have constant chatter, for its grass not to be chewed down to the useless nubs and dirt. The endless fields are lush today. Lush and empty. c h e m d o g in absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt |
