Ruhr
01-26-2025, 01:42 PM
A dozen turns of the Moon, she’d told him, she would listen to his ideas after a dozen turns.
So he’d waited, achingly aware of each rotation, his own body aging as it waxes and growing younger as it wanes. He could have come to her weeks ago, haggard and grey. But he’d waited longer still, as the Moon became more slender and his own body more capable.
He limps still, the old injury remaining regardless of his current physical ability or phase of the Moon, and tonight he appears a mature stallion, the brilliant sunset shades of his youthful coat having been muted by pale dapples so that he is more of a clouded dawn.
Fortunately, he does not have to limp far.
She is waiting for him, just where they’d agreed.
He begins without preamble, spinning for the palomino mare a tale of moonlit visions and what they mean, or might mean, or might not. He is not entirely sure of anything at all, and makes no secret of that.
At first she seems dubious, skeptical that after all these moons he wants nothing more than a meaningless title and the opportunity to speak with her about the Moon. But eventually she’d conceded and he’d left her company not only as one who speaks to the Moon, but as the Moonspeaker.
He’d expected to feel different afterwards.
Yet as he watches his shimmering reflection in the water of the river, everything feels the same.
Ruhr takes a deep breath of the warm spring air, closing his eyes as he lifts his head to the bright afternoon sun.
It is a beautiful day, the Moon has been encouraging, and he has everything he wants.
But everything still feels the same.
Ruhr sighs, and turns away from the water in search of a conversation to distract himself.
So he’d waited, achingly aware of each rotation, his own body aging as it waxes and growing younger as it wanes. He could have come to her weeks ago, haggard and grey. But he’d waited longer still, as the Moon became more slender and his own body more capable.
He limps still, the old injury remaining regardless of his current physical ability or phase of the Moon, and tonight he appears a mature stallion, the brilliant sunset shades of his youthful coat having been muted by pale dapples so that he is more of a clouded dawn.
Fortunately, he does not have to limp far.
She is waiting for him, just where they’d agreed.
He begins without preamble, spinning for the palomino mare a tale of moonlit visions and what they mean, or might mean, or might not. He is not entirely sure of anything at all, and makes no secret of that.
At first she seems dubious, skeptical that after all these moons he wants nothing more than a meaningless title and the opportunity to speak with her about the Moon. But eventually she’d conceded and he’d left her company not only as one who speaks to the Moon, but as the Moonspeaker.
He’d expected to feel different afterwards.
Yet as he watches his shimmering reflection in the water of the river, everything feels the same.
Ruhr takes a deep breath of the warm spring air, closing his eyes as he lifts his head to the bright afternoon sun.
It is a beautiful day, the Moon has been encouraging, and he has everything he wants.
But everything still feels the same.
Ruhr sighs, and turns away from the water in search of a conversation to distract himself.