12-08-2017, 11:35 AM
.Corvus.
(yes, I am alone)
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
Taiga was nothing more than a distant memory. Hazy, indistinct, and meaningless. Much like a lot of his youth had been, soiled by the loathing that festered inside of him for a brother that could do no wrong and the mother who chose which son to favor from (what felt like) the first breath. He preferred to drown the thought of it out, to bury it deeply into the darkest recesses of his mind, to never permit to the surface. The woodland had never been anything but a bane on his existence; a tether to keep him tied to a family that had never been family at all – once he finally released himself from his mother and her swollen teat, he rarely returned, instead moving to the furthest edge of the world over.
The memory of magma wolves and boiling seawater and the rumbling ground beneath him had all been forgotten. Hollow and pointless, those memories were, and it only served to bring frothing ire to the forefront of his mind. He did not want to remember it. He did not want to remember the loneliness, the resentment, nor the deep and unwavering hatred that had found itself inside of him like an acrid bile – like a thick, oozing poison, seeping into his bloodstream and spreading throughout his body like wildfire.
He did not want to remember.
And so he would not.
Venturing into the thicket was simply not an option. Too close to old memories buried deep, he kept along the outer edge, as his hazel gaze searches the deep center of the vast and open meadow, wondering how he had managed to wander so far.
Rarely did he leave Hyaline (it had become his domicile, his refuge when his wayward, wild blood relatives sought sanctuary elsewhere time and time again). He cannot remember why he felt the incessant need to leave, nor the urge to rise before the sun and head east.
Alas, there he is – bathing in the waning sunlight, albeit with disdain. The deep emerald of his feathers twitch and bristle in a gentle breeze of his own making, as the stagnant heat of summer is too still for him. His legs carry him forward, with no purpose and no stride. The sun is soon irritating and so he steps into the shadow of brittle pine and wiry birch for shelter from the heat. It is not until he can feel the weight of a stare settled upon him that he becomes as still as summer solstice itself, as his heart thrums forcefully inside of his chest. He knew the intensity of a predator’s eyes, without ever having it see them. He felt it in his bones. He’d felt it since the moment he was born, since his arrogant brother had been blessed with the skin of a wolf at birth and not he.
”You are mistaken,” he mutters, staring into the darkness and directly into a pair of watchful amber eyes. ”you are the one lingering in shadow. Show yourself.”
The memory of magma wolves and boiling seawater and the rumbling ground beneath him had all been forgotten. Hollow and pointless, those memories were, and it only served to bring frothing ire to the forefront of his mind. He did not want to remember it. He did not want to remember the loneliness, the resentment, nor the deep and unwavering hatred that had found itself inside of him like an acrid bile – like a thick, oozing poison, seeping into his bloodstream and spreading throughout his body like wildfire.
He did not want to remember.
And so he would not.
Venturing into the thicket was simply not an option. Too close to old memories buried deep, he kept along the outer edge, as his hazel gaze searches the deep center of the vast and open meadow, wondering how he had managed to wander so far.
Rarely did he leave Hyaline (it had become his domicile, his refuge when his wayward, wild blood relatives sought sanctuary elsewhere time and time again). He cannot remember why he felt the incessant need to leave, nor the urge to rise before the sun and head east.
Alas, there he is – bathing in the waning sunlight, albeit with disdain. The deep emerald of his feathers twitch and bristle in a gentle breeze of his own making, as the stagnant heat of summer is too still for him. His legs carry him forward, with no purpose and no stride. The sun is soon irritating and so he steps into the shadow of brittle pine and wiry birch for shelter from the heat. It is not until he can feel the weight of a stare settled upon him that he becomes as still as summer solstice itself, as his heart thrums forcefully inside of his chest. He knew the intensity of a predator’s eyes, without ever having it see them. He felt it in his bones. He’d felt it since the moment he was born, since his arrogant brother had been blessed with the skin of a wolf at birth and not he.
”You are mistaken,” he mutters, staring into the darkness and directly into a pair of watchful amber eyes. ”you are the one lingering in shadow. Show yourself.”
I think maybe it's because you were never really real to begin with.
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
@[Arete]