12-17-2015, 01:48 PM
He is an old man. Ancient, really, for he had surpassed merely old decades ago. But if there is one thing he can say that he has gained in his very long life, it would be knowledge. More specifically, knowledge that living forever is not always everything that it is cracked up to be. Oh, given the choice, he would still choose to live. But even he will admit there is a certain hollowness to a life lived forever. A life lived alone. Perhaps he is not cursed with it, has no actual need to live alone, but he has nonetheless.
He had almost loved once. A brief flame that had kindled in the hardest recesses of his heart. Her sunlight had washed over him, exposing the darkest pieces of his soul to a goodness he had not known existed before that very moment. But she had gone. Left without a word, taking those thawed pieces of his heart with her. He suspects they will always be hers, even if he never lays eyes on her again.
But if he had truly loved her, the young colt now making his way to the icy kingdom he rules would not exist. His mother had been a brief reprieve in the eternity of his loneliness. The only type of reprieve that he suspects he will ever have.
He knows even before the young man calls out that he is here. He knows even without asking that this is his son. He sees the boy’s mother there in his features. She had been soft and sweet, he remembers. A good mother, no doubt. So very unlike his own. Either of them. Despite all the memories he has lost over the years, he will always remember his mothers. Ironically, neither of them had been very motherly at all.
The pale stallion banks sharply, dark eyes fixed on the young man below as he drops from the sky to meet him. The ice wall looms large, a silent, constant sentinel. The frozen sides weep in the warm summer weather, reminding him of just how brief of a reprieve the season offered. Snapping his wings wide, he lands with efficient and practiced ease before the colt.
He doesn’t speak for a moment. His steely gaze is fixed upon the boy, silently assessing. He notes the smaller wing before dismissing it. He had always held the strong opinion that a man is what he makes himself to be, not what he was born with. He has no doubt that would hold true for his son as well.
When he finally does speak, his words are simple, straightforward.
”What is your name?”
He had almost loved once. A brief flame that had kindled in the hardest recesses of his heart. Her sunlight had washed over him, exposing the darkest pieces of his soul to a goodness he had not known existed before that very moment. But she had gone. Left without a word, taking those thawed pieces of his heart with her. He suspects they will always be hers, even if he never lays eyes on her again.
But if he had truly loved her, the young colt now making his way to the icy kingdom he rules would not exist. His mother had been a brief reprieve in the eternity of his loneliness. The only type of reprieve that he suspects he will ever have.
He knows even before the young man calls out that he is here. He knows even without asking that this is his son. He sees the boy’s mother there in his features. She had been soft and sweet, he remembers. A good mother, no doubt. So very unlike his own. Either of them. Despite all the memories he has lost over the years, he will always remember his mothers. Ironically, neither of them had been very motherly at all.
The pale stallion banks sharply, dark eyes fixed on the young man below as he drops from the sky to meet him. The ice wall looms large, a silent, constant sentinel. The frozen sides weep in the warm summer weather, reminding him of just how brief of a reprieve the season offered. Snapping his wings wide, he lands with efficient and practiced ease before the colt.
He doesn’t speak for a moment. His steely gaze is fixed upon the boy, silently assessing. He notes the smaller wing before dismissing it. He had always held the strong opinion that a man is what he makes himself to be, not what he was born with. He has no doubt that would hold true for his son as well.
When he finally does speak, his words are simple, straightforward.
”What is your name?”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
