01-18-2018, 12:06 AM
OOC: I am not sure I am eligible for this, as I was in the writing quest before last, but I didn't remember that until after I wrote this, and I don't want to miss the deadline if I am eligible, so here have this.
He keeps falling.
A year old, and he hasn’t quite mastered the use of his wings. He’s getting better, in part due to his determined and resilient nature, but it’s not what anyone could call ‘good’. He’s nearly mastered the take-off bit, and he can mostly do the actual flying bit, but the landing? The landing is where he keeps falling out of the sky. Gansey has mastered enough control to keep from seriously injuring himself but the bumps and lumps and bruises are accumulation, and he is sore in a lot of places.
But he will never overcome it if he doesn’t work at it; so he has once again climbed up (and up and up and up and up) the winding paths of the semi-active volcano to find a good launch point. (Did he say he was good at take-offs? He’s actually mediocre at take-offs, and the height helps). He’s gotten used to the wind whipping at his mane and tail and feathers as he steps close to the edge, closing his eyes and leaning out into space, smiling for just a moment before concentration brings a frown to his face instead and then he steps out into empty air, air snapping into his open wings.
Falling, falling, and something clenches in his stomach: he should have caught the thermal by now, be soaring out across Tephra, not still falling. Gansey gives it a breath, one more breath, and then opens his green eyes to watch the ground come up, deadly fast, and for a moment the world is a blur of green and blue and brown but then it’s – not.
He still has the sensation of falling, but the world around him is just barely a shade off of true white, almost but not quite white, and then even the sensation of falling is gone and there is nothing. No firm rocks or soft grass beneath his hooves, no sulfurous air in his nostrils, no wind rushing around his grey body. All there is, is Gansey – and in a strong, bold hand beside him, his name. He takes a couple of no-feeling steps and it follows, like a shadow that isn’t his shape but is him all the same.
<i>Is this death?</i> the boy wonders; <i>is this the end of falling from the sky?</i>
He keeps falling.
A year old, and he hasn’t quite mastered the use of his wings. He’s getting better, in part due to his determined and resilient nature, but it’s not what anyone could call ‘good’. He’s nearly mastered the take-off bit, and he can mostly do the actual flying bit, but the landing? The landing is where he keeps falling out of the sky. Gansey has mastered enough control to keep from seriously injuring himself but the bumps and lumps and bruises are accumulation, and he is sore in a lot of places.
But he will never overcome it if he doesn’t work at it; so he has once again climbed up (and up and up and up and up) the winding paths of the semi-active volcano to find a good launch point. (Did he say he was good at take-offs? He’s actually mediocre at take-offs, and the height helps). He’s gotten used to the wind whipping at his mane and tail and feathers as he steps close to the edge, closing his eyes and leaning out into space, smiling for just a moment before concentration brings a frown to his face instead and then he steps out into empty air, air snapping into his open wings.
Falling, falling, and something clenches in his stomach: he should have caught the thermal by now, be soaring out across Tephra, not still falling. Gansey gives it a breath, one more breath, and then opens his green eyes to watch the ground come up, deadly fast, and for a moment the world is a blur of green and blue and brown but then it’s – not.
He still has the sensation of falling, but the world around him is just barely a shade off of true white, almost but not quite white, and then even the sensation of falling is gone and there is nothing. No firm rocks or soft grass beneath his hooves, no sulfurous air in his nostrils, no wind rushing around his grey body. All there is, is Gansey – and in a strong, bold hand beside him, his name. He takes a couple of no-feeling steps and it follows, like a shadow that isn’t his shape but is him all the same.
<i>Is this death?</i> the boy wonders; <i>is this the end of falling from the sky?</i>