03-12-2018, 01:12 PM
Hephaestus
Running.
Ghosts from his past life chased him. Apparitions of those he’d loved and those he’d left behind. Countless years he’d wasted on a dream he knew he could never sustain. There were always too many questions – too many prying stares seeking to unravel the mystery of his scars. Yet another chapter of his life he wished to keep hidden.
There was no escape from his self-inflicted solitude. Chasing shadows had become a past-time he’d learned to embrace. One that he knew, more now than ever, was a necessity. The questions were too difficult to avoid and his lies would always be discovered.
Beqanna was a curious place. It seemed that around every corner there was another horse more capable than the last desiring to expose well hidden truths. Telepathy and manipulation were games that he could not win against.
Having crossed the bridge from Ischia, he had found himself submerged in a forest larger than life itself. Trees filled the space, some the size of mountains. Amazed he gazed up to acknowledge the branches that spread protectively over the expanse. Speckled amongst the greenery, however, were scars.
Charred logs and patches of earth speckled the otherwise wintery landscape. Weaker saplings lay half-buried by frost among dead underbrush and sage. There was a story being told – a story of a land that had suffered great pain but was fighting to revive itself once again.
Hephaestus’ dark eyes drank in the sights and the sounds of life as he entered into a sudden clearing, his steps slowing as an unfamiliar scent rose up to tickle his nostrils. There was another close by. He froze his ears pricked towards the trail of scent. The sound of his heartbeat was the only other to accompany the gentle chirping of the birds and the soft tickling of the breeze through deadened leaves. He almost would not have seen her if his eye had not caught sight of the shimmer gleam of feathers. Legs braced to run he extended his neck toward her still frame.
…She was sleeping.
A relieved exhale escaped his lungs and he took yet another step towards her prone frame. Undeniably beautiful he could sense her turmoil beneath the restful expression on her face. Glancing quickly around the clearing he was reassured that she was alone and he knew he ought to leave before she awoke. No doubt the sight of him lumbering above her would cause her a fright. Though, just as he decided that he should leave was unable to. What if harm befell her while she rested? He was unfamiliar with this land and knew not of the potential dangers that could be within the next shadow.
Maneuvering himself within the shade of a nearby tree he resigned himself to stand watch over the maiden that slept. He did not know her, yet he did know that his own conscience would not allow to abandon her in such a vulnerable position. As soon as she began to stir he would leave before she would even know that he had been near.
Ghosts from his past life chased him. Apparitions of those he’d loved and those he’d left behind. Countless years he’d wasted on a dream he knew he could never sustain. There were always too many questions – too many prying stares seeking to unravel the mystery of his scars. Yet another chapter of his life he wished to keep hidden.
There was no escape from his self-inflicted solitude. Chasing shadows had become a past-time he’d learned to embrace. One that he knew, more now than ever, was a necessity. The questions were too difficult to avoid and his lies would always be discovered.
Beqanna was a curious place. It seemed that around every corner there was another horse more capable than the last desiring to expose well hidden truths. Telepathy and manipulation were games that he could not win against.
Having crossed the bridge from Ischia, he had found himself submerged in a forest larger than life itself. Trees filled the space, some the size of mountains. Amazed he gazed up to acknowledge the branches that spread protectively over the expanse. Speckled amongst the greenery, however, were scars.
Charred logs and patches of earth speckled the otherwise wintery landscape. Weaker saplings lay half-buried by frost among dead underbrush and sage. There was a story being told – a story of a land that had suffered great pain but was fighting to revive itself once again.
Hephaestus’ dark eyes drank in the sights and the sounds of life as he entered into a sudden clearing, his steps slowing as an unfamiliar scent rose up to tickle his nostrils. There was another close by. He froze his ears pricked towards the trail of scent. The sound of his heartbeat was the only other to accompany the gentle chirping of the birds and the soft tickling of the breeze through deadened leaves. He almost would not have seen her if his eye had not caught sight of the shimmer gleam of feathers. Legs braced to run he extended his neck toward her still frame.
…She was sleeping.
A relieved exhale escaped his lungs and he took yet another step towards her prone frame. Undeniably beautiful he could sense her turmoil beneath the restful expression on her face. Glancing quickly around the clearing he was reassured that she was alone and he knew he ought to leave before she awoke. No doubt the sight of him lumbering above her would cause her a fright. Though, just as he decided that he should leave was unable to. What if harm befell her while she rested? He was unfamiliar with this land and knew not of the potential dangers that could be within the next shadow.
Maneuvering himself within the shade of a nearby tree he resigned himself to stand watch over the maiden that slept. He did not know her, yet he did know that his own conscience would not allow to abandon her in such a vulnerable position. As soon as she began to stir he would leave before she would even know that he had been near.
Break My Shackles To Set Me Free
@[Auroraelis]