09-29-2025, 03:12 PM
i burn from the hell i've seen, but the devil can't hold me down
He has always felt a certain kinship with spring. Winter is the season of dying, but spring? Spring is for reviving. As a creature of rebirth himself, he can appreciate the way the trees and flowers shake off the death of winter and burst open with color and promise. Winter is the season of dying, but spring is the promise of life.
With each burning, and each rebirth, he looks ahead to the new season. It has never done him any good to dwell on the past, so he doesn't. The things he needs and wants from life are found in spring, and not in winter.
He soars over the meadow, his fiery wings cutting a lazy path across the cotton candy sky. Dawn rises slowly, the oranges and pinks giving way to the brightest blue. He follows along the horizons edge, determined to add his own flare to the show. The sparks along his wings crackle and spark, while embers trail from his magnificent tail. Something swells in his chest, something larger than himself. It is a song, but a wordless one. His song needs no words. His song is a feeling, a promise. It is both beautiful and sorrowful, and it pours from his mouth in an endless stream to ring across the meadow.
When he can sing no more he sets his eyes on the ground. Amongst the green and living things he spots a tree. An ancient thing, though clearly dying. It must have been magnificent, once upon a time. Now, however, the branches are bare, the trunk gnarled and twisted as though the winds have punished it repeatedly. Flaring his wings he lands on the lowest branch as his heart fills with sorrow for the old tree. As his heart fills the tears fall. Pearly white things, his tears, and they slide slowly down the trunk and into the roots. The tree begins to change. First one leaf appears, then two. The branches straighten. As his tears fall, the old tree drinks, and because of him, it will get to experience another spring.
With each burning, and each rebirth, he looks ahead to the new season. It has never done him any good to dwell on the past, so he doesn't. The things he needs and wants from life are found in spring, and not in winter.
He soars over the meadow, his fiery wings cutting a lazy path across the cotton candy sky. Dawn rises slowly, the oranges and pinks giving way to the brightest blue. He follows along the horizons edge, determined to add his own flare to the show. The sparks along his wings crackle and spark, while embers trail from his magnificent tail. Something swells in his chest, something larger than himself. It is a song, but a wordless one. His song needs no words. His song is a feeling, a promise. It is both beautiful and sorrowful, and it pours from his mouth in an endless stream to ring across the meadow.
When he can sing no more he sets his eyes on the ground. Amongst the green and living things he spots a tree. An ancient thing, though clearly dying. It must have been magnificent, once upon a time. Now, however, the branches are bare, the trunk gnarled and twisted as though the winds have punished it repeatedly. Flaring his wings he lands on the lowest branch as his heart fills with sorrow for the old tree. As his heart fills the tears fall. Pearly white things, his tears, and they slide slowly down the trunk and into the roots. The tree begins to change. First one leaf appears, then two. The branches straighten. As his tears fall, the old tree drinks, and because of him, it will get to experience another spring.
fireheart
