06-23-2017, 03:03 PM
Corvus
It had been difficult for him, to finally shake free and pry away from his brother’s watchful eye – he was always so close (too close), and though his heart felt a certain fondness for him, it was, at times, too much. He longed to wander, to feel the gentle breeze carry him away from the dense, woodland grove, into an open clearing, to the wild and tempestuous sea, but he was still too young. Too young, his mother had said while quietly untangling a knot from his tousled, tangled mane – a deep, dark green against the pale gold of his skin.
A soft snort rumbles from his small nostrils while his dark and heavy amber gaze searches the thicket for something he hadn’t seen before; for someone he hadn’t met before. He wasn’t too young for anything, his mother didn’t understand – she didn’t understand how the wild wind called to him, beckoning him to the wide, open skyline, to the distant horizon where the sunlight danced across the jagged mountaintops – she didn’t understand (or at least, if she does, he cannot see it).
His dark, iridescent wings press tightly against his rib cage as he squeezes his slender frame through an impossibly tight row of tall, wiry pine trees, as the dry and brittle bark scratches across his skin. He is unphased, though, and rather awestruck – staring at the vivid, lustrous beauty of the clearing that lay before him. Delicate, blossoming flowers, swaying to and fro with a breeze that soon envelopes him (it makes him feel alive; surges the blood of his veins through his heart), a pond with a bubbling brook feeding into it – so much to look at, so much to see –
- and then he sees her.
She is petite, and intricately feminine, covered in ivory and lavender, splattered across her skin. He is intrigued, and quietly (and a bit clumsily, nearly tripping over an outstretched root), he saunters alongside her, curiously watching as she blows bubbles into the clear, crystalline water.
”What are you doing?” he asks, knowing how obvious the answer is.
A soft snort rumbles from his small nostrils while his dark and heavy amber gaze searches the thicket for something he hadn’t seen before; for someone he hadn’t met before. He wasn’t too young for anything, his mother didn’t understand – she didn’t understand how the wild wind called to him, beckoning him to the wide, open skyline, to the distant horizon where the sunlight danced across the jagged mountaintops – she didn’t understand (or at least, if she does, he cannot see it).
His dark, iridescent wings press tightly against his rib cage as he squeezes his slender frame through an impossibly tight row of tall, wiry pine trees, as the dry and brittle bark scratches across his skin. He is unphased, though, and rather awestruck – staring at the vivid, lustrous beauty of the clearing that lay before him. Delicate, blossoming flowers, swaying to and fro with a breeze that soon envelopes him (it makes him feel alive; surges the blood of his veins through his heart), a pond with a bubbling brook feeding into it – so much to look at, so much to see –
- and then he sees her.
She is petite, and intricately feminine, covered in ivory and lavender, splattered across her skin. He is intrigued, and quietly (and a bit clumsily, nearly tripping over an outstretched root), he saunters alongside her, curiously watching as she blows bubbles into the clear, crystalline water.
”What are you doing?” he asks, knowing how obvious the answer is.
and I wish I could know if the directions that I take,
and all the choices that I make won't end up all for nothing.
and all the choices that I make won't end up all for nothing.