10-01-2021, 03:41 PM
Molech
He wanders, keeping close to the river and what feels like a safe harbor to him beneath the canopies of viridian green pines, with boulders and stones dotting the edges of the misting waters with grey-scale colors. His mouth grazes across the green of algae that clings to protruding rocks, constantly swept by the continuous current of the winding river. At this particular twist in the very familiar river, large stones breach through the surface like whale’s backs, smooth from years of water weathering with their slippery and slick protrusions. The rocks create a rapid-esque environment in this area, though its current is not fast enough in any way for there to be any harm in crossing if one was a skilled swimmer. He wonders what may happen to those who slip into the waters only to find their hooves pulled from beneath them, pummeling headfirst into the sharp rocks.
Molech snorts, his vapor clouding around his face as the moisture from the river dampens the sharp features of his tri-colored face. It is achingly hot, even with the cover of the silent, sentinel pines and with the humid vapor steaming from the river. He enters the water, but not to swim. He disappears beneath its surface, seemingly gone from sight. But, like his father before him, he is not gone at all. He is there, moving through the current and traveling faster downstream than his legs would ever take him.
When he decides it is time to emerge, the stallion appears from seemingly nowhere. His head crests the calmer waters of downstream, then the rest of his body follows as he places a hoof on the pebble-studded shoreline. Water runs down each divet that carves out his muscular frame, clinging in crystalline dewdrops to his downy feathers. Spreading his wings out wide, where the white and green on the underside are now visible, he gives their heavy weight a few good swipes, cascading droplets like fractals of ice around him.
Pulling his wings to his side, deep goldenrod feathers now resting against the evergreen of his barrel, he walks absentmindedly through the gurgling shallows.
She hadn’t seen him, just like the last time. He hadn’t been noticed because he hadn’t wanted to, following the stream of consciousness her thoughts had fed him, like a trail of crumbs. She is wading in the river in the same exact position they had first met. Bardot is not exactly his type - too resilient, unbending, independent - but he decides to probe again; maybe her demeanor has changed in the last time he had laid his lavender eyes on her.
“Bardot,” he replies smoothly, sliding back into the water of the river to wade beside her. True that Molech has only known the river and the forest, though without parents it was difficult to wedge his way into a territory or kingdom, let alone be accepted there. No, it was much easier to find willing victims among the lost and broken, not in a place that gave them purpose. He smacks his lips thoughtfully, keeping a respectable distance between them despite the urge to close the gap. “Maybe I wasn’t sure if you were being truthful,” comes his humorous reply, his golden lips twitching into a smile.
“Maybe you were just being kind to a lonely stranger.”
Molech snorts, his vapor clouding around his face as the moisture from the river dampens the sharp features of his tri-colored face. It is achingly hot, even with the cover of the silent, sentinel pines and with the humid vapor steaming from the river. He enters the water, but not to swim. He disappears beneath its surface, seemingly gone from sight. But, like his father before him, he is not gone at all. He is there, moving through the current and traveling faster downstream than his legs would ever take him.
When he decides it is time to emerge, the stallion appears from seemingly nowhere. His head crests the calmer waters of downstream, then the rest of his body follows as he places a hoof on the pebble-studded shoreline. Water runs down each divet that carves out his muscular frame, clinging in crystalline dewdrops to his downy feathers. Spreading his wings out wide, where the white and green on the underside are now visible, he gives their heavy weight a few good swipes, cascading droplets like fractals of ice around him.
Pulling his wings to his side, deep goldenrod feathers now resting against the evergreen of his barrel, he walks absentmindedly through the gurgling shallows.
She hadn’t seen him, just like the last time. He hadn’t been noticed because he hadn’t wanted to, following the stream of consciousness her thoughts had fed him, like a trail of crumbs. She is wading in the river in the same exact position they had first met. Bardot is not exactly his type - too resilient, unbending, independent - but he decides to probe again; maybe her demeanor has changed in the last time he had laid his lavender eyes on her.
“Bardot,” he replies smoothly, sliding back into the water of the river to wade beside her. True that Molech has only known the river and the forest, though without parents it was difficult to wedge his way into a territory or kingdom, let alone be accepted there. No, it was much easier to find willing victims among the lost and broken, not in a place that gave them purpose. He smacks his lips thoughtfully, keeping a respectable distance between them despite the urge to close the gap. “Maybe I wasn’t sure if you were being truthful,” comes his humorous reply, his golden lips twitching into a smile.
“Maybe you were just being kind to a lonely stranger.”
YOUR PRECIOUS LIGHT IS FADING
@Bardot