12-24-2019, 01:37 PM
stand in the ashes of what once was
A roaring wind, rattling and shaking bones of steel — steel?
A stifling breath cages itself in his lungs, he forces it out.
Not steel, never steel anymore — a giggle, angelic and sweet, the ocean smells sweet...
His jaw works, crunching teeth as his marred body crests a hill. The scene that greets him is picturesque; a warming present meant to welcome and lull those in an internal war.
He hates, and yet craves it, in equal measure.
The grass is fresh and lush, but that is now what draws his eyes. People and paths, paths and people. One must decide when it comes to each, for both can bring many things. Despite the leg that twitches to move forward, Soran chooses to move to the side.
Circling and circling, they always circle and watch, waiting, waiting, waiting.
One might have leaped into the beautiful, open field without a thought — once upon a time, he might have done the same. Now he is but the silent eyes and ears once more.
He walks, keeping his posture calm and collected despite the roars in his unsteady mind. He walks and walks, well away from where he had crested the hill and it is only now that he stops, hooves falling upon a well-beaten path.
Not new, not old, simply worn, as most are.
He glances away from the field and towards the direction the path leads. There is nothing truly eye-catching about the path, it is simply the first he has stumbled upon. He fixes himself, neck taking on an instinctual arch and body standing tall. A man of a court... once upon a time.
To take the first or continue on; to pass up an opportunity and never grasp it again.
A giggle, sweet and kind — ash and tears.
He hums to himself. Glacial eyes slink back towards the field (spots those that one would discriminately call exotic and strange) but he does not move.
A gentle gush of air comes from his nostrils, one filled with slight agitation and indecisiveness. He takes a step back from the path, perhaps he should wait. He clicks his tongue. Standing in limbo has never done anyone any good.
Yet, he remains there, watching the path and watching the field. Stuck in limbo.
Clinking chains, tear-stained cheeks—
This has never benefited anyone.
Open
A stifling breath cages itself in his lungs, he forces it out.
Not steel, never steel anymore — a giggle, angelic and sweet, the ocean smells sweet...
His jaw works, crunching teeth as his marred body crests a hill. The scene that greets him is picturesque; a warming present meant to welcome and lull those in an internal war.
He hates, and yet craves it, in equal measure.
The grass is fresh and lush, but that is now what draws his eyes. People and paths, paths and people. One must decide when it comes to each, for both can bring many things. Despite the leg that twitches to move forward, Soran chooses to move to the side.
Circling and circling, they always circle and watch, waiting, waiting, waiting.
One might have leaped into the beautiful, open field without a thought — once upon a time, he might have done the same. Now he is but the silent eyes and ears once more.
He walks, keeping his posture calm and collected despite the roars in his unsteady mind. He walks and walks, well away from where he had crested the hill and it is only now that he stops, hooves falling upon a well-beaten path.
Not new, not old, simply worn, as most are.
He glances away from the field and towards the direction the path leads. There is nothing truly eye-catching about the path, it is simply the first he has stumbled upon. He fixes himself, neck taking on an instinctual arch and body standing tall. A man of a court... once upon a time.
To take the first or continue on; to pass up an opportunity and never grasp it again.
A giggle, sweet and kind — ash and tears.
He hums to himself. Glacial eyes slink back towards the field (spots those that one would discriminately call exotic and strange) but he does not move.
A gentle gush of air comes from his nostrils, one filled with slight agitation and indecisiveness. He takes a step back from the path, perhaps he should wait. He clicks his tongue. Standing in limbo has never done anyone any good.
Yet, he remains there, watching the path and watching the field. Stuck in limbo.
Clinking chains, tear-stained cheeks—
This has never benefited anyone.
neamrel