[open] Someone help me burn out bright [no tephra]

[Canaan]

Canaan

so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,

 ”Ah, Pangea and Nerine,” the smooth lacing of whiskey and bourbon interrupts, cutting through the brief and momentary silence that settles within the warm, rather serene setting before him. ”prowling the wayward grain for your next quarry?”  A slight, carefree grin pulls at the corners of his pale, whiskered mouth, as his hazel eyes observe the four – his gaze lingering on the youth nestled tightly against his mother, quietly musing at the similarities shared between the two. He then glances to the male (Waylan, was it? He barely caught it,) with his searing eyes of crimson and his dark, mottled pelt, and a crooked smile that does not seem at all natural. Precarious, that one – one to keep a close eye on.

  At last, his hazel eyes (clouded in an endless sea of thought, so much like his own father, Magnus)  rove over the soft, delicate features of the russet mare resting in the center of such hungry, thinly veiled conversation, and still his smile remains. The sunlight, unyielding and bright, seemingly weaves its way through her tangled tresses of coal, and she is in stark contrast to the barren, vivid horizon that lay beyond her. There is a shadow of doubt hiding along the gentle hollow of her cheek, and the crease of her eyes – one he had never known himself, but that does not keep him from empathizing with the perplexity of it. Life was too short to doubt oneself; though he had no idea of the eternity ahead of him beneath the cover of immortality. 

  ”I am Canaan,” he utters as a brief nod of his head is given, and his dark, streaked forelock rests in front of his gold-flecked eyes, which have since settled onto her. ”I come from the river. It has no name – not yet, at least, but it is as it describes.” He says as a rumbling chuckle reverberates within his chest. ”If you are seeking refuge, it is quiet. Calm. Peaceful, even, and lacking any political stance.” Only then does he spare a glance to Nayl and to Waylan, hoping to convey meaning to them as well. ”A dwelling for those who want some semblance of comfort and familiarity, but not the commitment of government.”

  A pause, and then a faint sheepishness can be found creeping its way into his smile.
  ”Forgive me. I, too, would like to know your name.”

and we never even know we have the key.