02-28-2021, 04:05 PM
Lumineer
He has adapted to his grief.
It is not in his nature to dwell, Lumineer.
He has soothed himself with the belief that the darkness must be temporary and that his family will someday be restored. He has convinced himself, too, that that day will come soon.
Perhaps he is naive, but this is the only way he can weather this storm of crippling darkness.
He casts no light as he flies, stretching the wings he so rarely uses. He favors the wolf over the wings and they ache with neglect as he soars over the forest on his way to the meadow, the eclipse at his back. He lands roughly, out of practice, stumbling over an uneven patch of terrain bathed in shadow but he feels no glimmer of self-consciousness. There is no tell-tale rush of heat in his cheeks as he regains his balance and folds his wings against his sides again. He has never been all that bothered about what others might think of him.
He wonders about the friends he has met along the way, how they have adapted to this darkness. He thinks of the girl who’d slid out of the river as if the frigid temperature had no effect on her at all and wonders if she has remained just as unaffected by the darkness. He thinks of the winged mare and her companion and how she has fared since they parted ways. He worries, too, about his family and how so many of them have been reduced to bones.
He is lost to his thoughts and he wanders aimlessly through the dead meadow-grass, hunger panging against his ribcage as he goes. He does not want to, but he cannot help but entertain the thought of what might happen to them if the light does not return.
It is not in his nature to dwell, Lumineer.
He has soothed himself with the belief that the darkness must be temporary and that his family will someday be restored. He has convinced himself, too, that that day will come soon.
Perhaps he is naive, but this is the only way he can weather this storm of crippling darkness.
He casts no light as he flies, stretching the wings he so rarely uses. He favors the wolf over the wings and they ache with neglect as he soars over the forest on his way to the meadow, the eclipse at his back. He lands roughly, out of practice, stumbling over an uneven patch of terrain bathed in shadow but he feels no glimmer of self-consciousness. There is no tell-tale rush of heat in his cheeks as he regains his balance and folds his wings against his sides again. He has never been all that bothered about what others might think of him.
He wonders about the friends he has met along the way, how they have adapted to this darkness. He thinks of the girl who’d slid out of the river as if the frigid temperature had no effect on her at all and wonders if she has remained just as unaffected by the darkness. He thinks of the winged mare and her companion and how she has fared since they parted ways. He worries, too, about his family and how so many of them have been reduced to bones.
He is lost to his thoughts and he wanders aimlessly through the dead meadow-grass, hunger panging against his ribcage as he goes. He does not want to, but he cannot help but entertain the thought of what might happen to them if the light does not return.
THROUGH THE DARKNESS TO THE DAWN
@[rosebay]