09-02-2016, 02:01 PM
YOU CAN STAND ME UP AT THE GATES OF HELL, BUT I WON'T BACK DOWN.
Winter dissipates once again, its frigid grasp slipping away with the gentle dawn of a new morning. The sunlight breaks through the clouds above, its pale rays illuminating the permafrost below as the ice melts away into small pools of crystalline water. The warm breeze that carries through is an unusual sensation against his numb flesh, and the heat of daylight stirs him from his reverie. It had been a long, dreary winter - emotionally tiring, physically draining and more callous than in years' past. A weariness settles into his bones, and an unsettling uneasiness stirs the pit of his belly - something lurks within the seemingly calm, unending dawn - and suddenly, the ground begins to rattle, shake and tremble beneath him, and it feels as if his heart could cease within his chest at any moment.
The hours have since passed, the sun long faded into the deceivingly quiet sky above. Glistening stars shine above, and the dense moonlight falls over the warm meadow. The wavering grasses lap softly at his legs, and sweat beads over his marred flesh - the descent from the mountain has left him tired, weary and yet, something urges him to move on. He must find his beloved Isle, and all of those he had once held so close to him - all of those who had remained under his rule; all of those who had become his companions and most trusted allies. Were all safe? Would all thrive?
His lungs, still tired from the uncomfortably thin air of higher altitudes, pair with his dry esophagus and raw vocal box to bellow out across the many bodies that litter the land before him. His dark eyes peer across the land, seeking out a familiar face, his heart aching from the separation and his mind throbbing from the weight of change.
Within, his heart pulsated and sank with each rolling thought, worried and anxious for the lives that had once been entrusted to his care and had believed in his refuge of ice. It is here he would wait, tucked beneath a draping willow, with sweat beading along his furrowed brow and a fiery light in his eye.
The hours have since passed, the sun long faded into the deceivingly quiet sky above. Glistening stars shine above, and the dense moonlight falls over the warm meadow. The wavering grasses lap softly at his legs, and sweat beads over his marred flesh - the descent from the mountain has left him tired, weary and yet, something urges him to move on. He must find his beloved Isle, and all of those he had once held so close to him - all of those who had remained under his rule; all of those who had become his companions and most trusted allies. Were all safe? Would all thrive?
His lungs, still tired from the uncomfortably thin air of higher altitudes, pair with his dry esophagus and raw vocal box to bellow out across the many bodies that litter the land before him. His dark eyes peer across the land, seeking out a familiar face, his heart aching from the separation and his mind throbbing from the weight of change.
Within, his heart pulsated and sank with each rolling thought, worried and anxious for the lives that had once been entrusted to his care and had believed in his refuge of ice. It is here he would wait, tucked beneath a draping willow, with sweat beading along his furrowed brow and a fiery light in his eye.
OFFSPRING