11-12-2018, 06:12 AM
Leilan
Glaciers melting in the dead of night
and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
and the superstars sucked into the supermassive
Originally, he’d come to the mountain for a whole different reason.
Originally, he felt like the plain of ice could use some intervention. Perhaps, though, they would simply cast him aside for asking. Tell him that if he wasn’t strong enough then he wasn’t worth it. But then – could they really have created a sanctuary, only for such a sanctuary to throw out sick horses? Surely that’s against the idea of it’s creation. So perhaps… perhaps they’d rather destroy it, than see it fought over this much.
So he’d come.
Not to ask for anything – he knew what the results of that would be.
To tell them what had happened, and to see if they would take it out on him (as long as it wasn’t someone else, that’s pretty much okay) or on the island (sink the damned thing) or perhaps they would do nothing. But then at least, they would know and have a choice.
Of course, none of that would ever come to pass. Or perhaps they already knew.
Because when he arrives, there are several others. He might have missed a message. The important part anyway… he only catches the last bit as he slides into the group that has accumulated, and keeps his thoughts and frowns to himself when the last bit of fairy decree is being announced. You will do so without any of the gifts we have previously allowed you.
It’s done, then. All gone, in the blink of an eye; he shakes his fur, fluffy once more, though he is in fact slightly distressed at the idea that he has built no winter coat. He moves his jaw awkwardly and runs his tongue by his teeth: normal horse teeth, but honestly that’s not too bad. When he flicks his tail absentmindedly, he catches a glimpse of it: silvery white, like it used to be. Huh, so appearance mattered too, then. A lesson in humility no doubt. As if he wasn't being trampled on enough these days. Ah well, no matter.
The worst is his eyes, though. It gives him such a headache. Dizzy, the world spinning; suddenly short-sighted, he needs time to adjust. A lot of time.
The most time, it seems, for when he looks around he is alone.
Damn.
Perhaps he’d better just go back home and wait till the others have finished this fairy quest, because he has no clue what the actual… well, what he’s supposed to do.
The journey down the mountain is colder than the one up. For a lack of dragon ice means a much more, in comparison, susceptibility to the cold. He hasn’t had that problem for long enough, not to shiver and honestly, rethink his going-home for a moment; but he’ll live. If he makes sure to eat enough. Keep moving. Stay warm.
He travels the border of Hyaline and Loess, not wanting to include either kingdom in the trip; not their fault that a bunch of willing horses now rampages here, though, he still can’t help but wonder what they are doing, or supposed to do anyway. What a mess is this. He wonders what the others back home will say. Changes he’d brought about himself in his own ignorant stupidity. Ah well, that’s what he’s good at now, isn’t he? Making bad choices at the worst of times. For a moment, he wonders what his life is even worth. All the good things he’d done so far, well, most of them are to rectify his previous mistakes.
He stops mid-thought, one hoof still hanging in the air – but a memory of Nerine as it used to be, when a whole different thought had stopped him like that, awakens him. The hoof lands, and he takes a moment to look around. A border of three countries; green trees, red trees, and a lack of trees. Technically this is probably still Hyaline, he believes. Seeing as he has such a high vantage point; a cliff-like structure though further on it lowers quickly into the Taigan redwood forest.
Forward, then, is Taiga; beyond that is Nerine. Home, as much as Icicle Isle is; but for the people who live there, not for the landscape. He should have figured that out sooner.
He’s quite happy that Taiga is occupied by Lilitha and her desire to make a herd-land, free for all, so he has no worries in passing through. He moves through the trees slowly, shivering once in a while because the wintery chill is amplified by the eerie fog that still holds here, by the lack of sunlight (especially now, at night) that is being blocked out by the high and dense canopy.
Some love it for this eeriness. Some stay here for the memory of the forest it once was; Leilan has no such memories, because he had been gone form Beqanna long before the Reckoning, and returned only after Taiga’s drama had taken place. No fondness then, for redwood pines. No hard feelings against it either, though.
He does not stop. He does not stop to eat, nor sleep, because he’s cold and he only wants to go home. He does honestly have no idea what he’s doing, that the fae had sent the group of horses this way.
He wants to stop in Nerine, to be honest – but there is still so much to do on Icicle Isle. Even if, in the end, he is the only one wanting him there (he has no illusions about how dependent he is on his fellow Nerinians moving there; if they don’t want him to lead they’d only have to say so); even if that is the case, there is still so much left undone. So as much as he wants to pause, seek his sister, his mother, his children (expecting Thorgal and Chryseis to be here, because they hadn’t been on the Isle), his wife; he does not. These days he feels like he has no time to do anything, because of the other claimers on the island. Had they not come, or had they left when they knew what opposition they would face, things would have been over with by now.
But it’s not his nature to give up anything, certainly not now.
Not when, besides his own life goals and achievements, there are other things at stake.
He doesn’t want to think of newborns with the Plague.
He sees one, up ahead though. Well, not newborn, not any more. Strong enough to bear it, it seems. Briella, the adopted child of his niece or, of her mate – not quite sure. Probably wasn’t Heart’s idea.
He follows then, into the water. Curses under his breath but, not loud enough for the girl to hear. Or the shimmering boy nearby – the coat colour reminds him of Sabra. Hadn’t she said she had children? If the boy had wings, he didn’t have them now; funny how some traits are so ingrained in our memories, personalities, that they make up part of what distincts one horse of the other.
But honestly, he feels very much like himself right now.
A fucking idiot.
Not stupid enough; he’d chosen the shortest part of the sea to cross. Part of his brain is surely working.
It’s just a part he usually shoves away deeply.
A summer coat, nothing gleaming but the chocolate colour in his eyes, that he’d received from his father upon birth instead of like Ea, the colour-changing ones of their mother. Soaking wet, and as shaky as the opalescent kid that approaches Briella, perhaps they’d come together.
There are others now, and he’s late. Not too late, he thinks, for everybody is here. Nalia, wingless, looks almost naked. A young mare, to which he smiles as he hears the mutterings under her breath. A bay mare, looking sickly, yet she’d made it here. The Hyaline queen who’d seem fit to insult him the moment he’d questioned her as any border guard would have. Some other mare he doesn’t know. A colt, a filly. Leliana, recognizable by the red and browns he already told her befitted Tephra the best, no doubt. Perhaps there may be more to arrive, still.
So this is where the journey had gone to.
Isn’t that just awesome? He could have stayed here and safe himself the trouble.
He keeps himself warm by keeping himself moving; however impatient he may look, prancing in one place, he's not willing to die in all this.
Originally, he felt like the plain of ice could use some intervention. Perhaps, though, they would simply cast him aside for asking. Tell him that if he wasn’t strong enough then he wasn’t worth it. But then – could they really have created a sanctuary, only for such a sanctuary to throw out sick horses? Surely that’s against the idea of it’s creation. So perhaps… perhaps they’d rather destroy it, than see it fought over this much.
So he’d come.
Not to ask for anything – he knew what the results of that would be.
To tell them what had happened, and to see if they would take it out on him (as long as it wasn’t someone else, that’s pretty much okay) or on the island (sink the damned thing) or perhaps they would do nothing. But then at least, they would know and have a choice.
Of course, none of that would ever come to pass. Or perhaps they already knew.
Because when he arrives, there are several others. He might have missed a message. The important part anyway… he only catches the last bit as he slides into the group that has accumulated, and keeps his thoughts and frowns to himself when the last bit of fairy decree is being announced. You will do so without any of the gifts we have previously allowed you.
It’s done, then. All gone, in the blink of an eye; he shakes his fur, fluffy once more, though he is in fact slightly distressed at the idea that he has built no winter coat. He moves his jaw awkwardly and runs his tongue by his teeth: normal horse teeth, but honestly that’s not too bad. When he flicks his tail absentmindedly, he catches a glimpse of it: silvery white, like it used to be. Huh, so appearance mattered too, then. A lesson in humility no doubt. As if he wasn't being trampled on enough these days. Ah well, no matter.
The worst is his eyes, though. It gives him such a headache. Dizzy, the world spinning; suddenly short-sighted, he needs time to adjust. A lot of time.
The most time, it seems, for when he looks around he is alone.
Damn.
Perhaps he’d better just go back home and wait till the others have finished this fairy quest, because he has no clue what the actual… well, what he’s supposed to do.
The journey down the mountain is colder than the one up. For a lack of dragon ice means a much more, in comparison, susceptibility to the cold. He hasn’t had that problem for long enough, not to shiver and honestly, rethink his going-home for a moment; but he’ll live. If he makes sure to eat enough. Keep moving. Stay warm.
He travels the border of Hyaline and Loess, not wanting to include either kingdom in the trip; not their fault that a bunch of willing horses now rampages here, though, he still can’t help but wonder what they are doing, or supposed to do anyway. What a mess is this. He wonders what the others back home will say. Changes he’d brought about himself in his own ignorant stupidity. Ah well, that’s what he’s good at now, isn’t he? Making bad choices at the worst of times. For a moment, he wonders what his life is even worth. All the good things he’d done so far, well, most of them are to rectify his previous mistakes.
He stops mid-thought, one hoof still hanging in the air – but a memory of Nerine as it used to be, when a whole different thought had stopped him like that, awakens him. The hoof lands, and he takes a moment to look around. A border of three countries; green trees, red trees, and a lack of trees. Technically this is probably still Hyaline, he believes. Seeing as he has such a high vantage point; a cliff-like structure though further on it lowers quickly into the Taigan redwood forest.
Forward, then, is Taiga; beyond that is Nerine. Home, as much as Icicle Isle is; but for the people who live there, not for the landscape. He should have figured that out sooner.
He’s quite happy that Taiga is occupied by Lilitha and her desire to make a herd-land, free for all, so he has no worries in passing through. He moves through the trees slowly, shivering once in a while because the wintery chill is amplified by the eerie fog that still holds here, by the lack of sunlight (especially now, at night) that is being blocked out by the high and dense canopy.
Some love it for this eeriness. Some stay here for the memory of the forest it once was; Leilan has no such memories, because he had been gone form Beqanna long before the Reckoning, and returned only after Taiga’s drama had taken place. No fondness then, for redwood pines. No hard feelings against it either, though.
He does not stop. He does not stop to eat, nor sleep, because he’s cold and he only wants to go home. He does honestly have no idea what he’s doing, that the fae had sent the group of horses this way.
He wants to stop in Nerine, to be honest – but there is still so much to do on Icicle Isle. Even if, in the end, he is the only one wanting him there (he has no illusions about how dependent he is on his fellow Nerinians moving there; if they don’t want him to lead they’d only have to say so); even if that is the case, there is still so much left undone. So as much as he wants to pause, seek his sister, his mother, his children (expecting Thorgal and Chryseis to be here, because they hadn’t been on the Isle), his wife; he does not. These days he feels like he has no time to do anything, because of the other claimers on the island. Had they not come, or had they left when they knew what opposition they would face, things would have been over with by now.
But it’s not his nature to give up anything, certainly not now.
Not when, besides his own life goals and achievements, there are other things at stake.
He doesn’t want to think of newborns with the Plague.
He sees one, up ahead though. Well, not newborn, not any more. Strong enough to bear it, it seems. Briella, the adopted child of his niece or, of her mate – not quite sure. Probably wasn’t Heart’s idea.
He follows then, into the water. Curses under his breath but, not loud enough for the girl to hear. Or the shimmering boy nearby – the coat colour reminds him of Sabra. Hadn’t she said she had children? If the boy had wings, he didn’t have them now; funny how some traits are so ingrained in our memories, personalities, that they make up part of what distincts one horse of the other.
But honestly, he feels very much like himself right now.
A fucking idiot.
Not stupid enough; he’d chosen the shortest part of the sea to cross. Part of his brain is surely working.
It’s just a part he usually shoves away deeply.
A summer coat, nothing gleaming but the chocolate colour in his eyes, that he’d received from his father upon birth instead of like Ea, the colour-changing ones of their mother. Soaking wet, and as shaky as the opalescent kid that approaches Briella, perhaps they’d come together.
There are others now, and he’s late. Not too late, he thinks, for everybody is here. Nalia, wingless, looks almost naked. A young mare, to which he smiles as he hears the mutterings under her breath. A bay mare, looking sickly, yet she’d made it here. The Hyaline queen who’d seem fit to insult him the moment he’d questioned her as any border guard would have. Some other mare he doesn’t know. A colt, a filly. Leliana, recognizable by the red and browns he already told her befitted Tephra the best, no doubt. Perhaps there may be more to arrive, still.
So this is where the journey had gone to.
Isn’t that just awesome? He could have stayed here and safe himself the trouble.
He keeps himself warm by keeping himself moving; however impatient he may look, prancing in one place, he's not willing to die in all this.
you set my soul alight
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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