04-05-2024, 08:52 AM
OAKS
you look well suited
like you came to win
It turns out that the kingdom is more than just a simple desert with a central canyon running through it. It is something almost alive, something that moves and breathes.
Sometimes, perhaps, it weeps.
That’s the sort of image painted in Oaks’ mind, at least, when he listens to Zain’s explanations during their tour. The spindles, like needle teeth, rather intrigue him and he pauses to admire them during their journey. They look dangerous and he remarks passively upon that fact with a nervous sort of shuffle of his wings.
They impressed upon him as the perfect scene for a crucifixion.
(He does not speak this observation aloud. It seems too grim, even in present company.)
The place seems woefully desolate, dry and sparse and quiet as they walk alone. It seems to speak to his heart – empty and wanting, dismal in spite of its feeble attempts to nurture life and harbor hope. He finds the stillness of it all to be relatable, in a depressive sort of way.
When they happen upon the odd outcropping of rocks that mottle one of the minor cliff faces, the scent of clean water is unmistakable. Beside the pureness of it lingers a mild sensation like static, as if the water fizzes with the touch of magic. This intrigues the sheltered optimism in the spotted stallion despite Zain’s clear disdain at the very presence of the merry waterfall.
Oaks says nothing, though, and only tilts his head a little with a slight sag of the opposite wing, its ghostly feathers stretching just vaguely in a shrug. He knows much less about the goings-on of Beqanna than Zain and has no answers for the entity’s presence, though he cannot deny his internal relief at seeing something a little more positive in their otherwise bleak surroundings. Even the vegetation here seems greener and healthier, but they do not linger long.
Their path takes them further south toward the more common lands. Oaks has avoided these parts with determination, but he does not balk this time. Zain’s presence (and most importantly, his apparent resistance to whatever curse Oaks bears in his blood) instills a little more confidence in him than he’s had in years past.
Luckily, they remain isolated rather than seeking the company of others.
He looks upon the tree they stop at with some hesitation, though it is mingled with awe. Its gentle hues and blatant abundance of health are marvelous to behold and Oaks sighs with a soft smile as he admires it.
But Zain’s plans turn toward more formidable notions as he instructs his younger companion to attempt focusing his powers onto the tree. A mild flicker of alarm passes through his reddish-brown eyes before he steadies himself; he’d been asking about taking control of whatever burdensome magic he’d been given and it’s clear that Zain must have taken up the challenge of teaching him.
“I’ve tried before, but…” Oaks speaks meekly but does not finish his statement. Drawing a shallow breath, he holds it in his lungs and turns his attention to the tree, trying to muster his unwieldy magic. He thinks of all the times he’s watched the life and health in others fade, the times he’s seen plants wilt and eyes grow dim. It distresses his gentle heart, though; tears faintly rim his eyes as he exhales.
Nothing has happened to the tree – it still flutters gently with a faint perfume of blooming newness.
“I don’t feel anything,” he observes, blinking to try and dispel the sadness from his face. “I tried,” he assures the taller stallion, “but something’s different… It’s like something’s missing.”
Sometimes, perhaps, it weeps.
That’s the sort of image painted in Oaks’ mind, at least, when he listens to Zain’s explanations during their tour. The spindles, like needle teeth, rather intrigue him and he pauses to admire them during their journey. They look dangerous and he remarks passively upon that fact with a nervous sort of shuffle of his wings.
They impressed upon him as the perfect scene for a crucifixion.
(He does not speak this observation aloud. It seems too grim, even in present company.)
The place seems woefully desolate, dry and sparse and quiet as they walk alone. It seems to speak to his heart – empty and wanting, dismal in spite of its feeble attempts to nurture life and harbor hope. He finds the stillness of it all to be relatable, in a depressive sort of way.
When they happen upon the odd outcropping of rocks that mottle one of the minor cliff faces, the scent of clean water is unmistakable. Beside the pureness of it lingers a mild sensation like static, as if the water fizzes with the touch of magic. This intrigues the sheltered optimism in the spotted stallion despite Zain’s clear disdain at the very presence of the merry waterfall.
Oaks says nothing, though, and only tilts his head a little with a slight sag of the opposite wing, its ghostly feathers stretching just vaguely in a shrug. He knows much less about the goings-on of Beqanna than Zain and has no answers for the entity’s presence, though he cannot deny his internal relief at seeing something a little more positive in their otherwise bleak surroundings. Even the vegetation here seems greener and healthier, but they do not linger long.
Their path takes them further south toward the more common lands. Oaks has avoided these parts with determination, but he does not balk this time. Zain’s presence (and most importantly, his apparent resistance to whatever curse Oaks bears in his blood) instills a little more confidence in him than he’s had in years past.
Luckily, they remain isolated rather than seeking the company of others.
He looks upon the tree they stop at with some hesitation, though it is mingled with awe. Its gentle hues and blatant abundance of health are marvelous to behold and Oaks sighs with a soft smile as he admires it.
But Zain’s plans turn toward more formidable notions as he instructs his younger companion to attempt focusing his powers onto the tree. A mild flicker of alarm passes through his reddish-brown eyes before he steadies himself; he’d been asking about taking control of whatever burdensome magic he’d been given and it’s clear that Zain must have taken up the challenge of teaching him.
“I’ve tried before, but…” Oaks speaks meekly but does not finish his statement. Drawing a shallow breath, he holds it in his lungs and turns his attention to the tree, trying to muster his unwieldy magic. He thinks of all the times he’s watched the life and health in others fade, the times he’s seen plants wilt and eyes grow dim. It distresses his gentle heart, though; tears faintly rim his eyes as he exhales.
Nothing has happened to the tree – it still flutters gently with a faint perfume of blooming newness.
“I don’t feel anything,” he observes, blinking to try and dispel the sadness from his face. “I tried,” he assures the taller stallion, “but something’s different… It’s like something’s missing.”
@
Zain