01-26-2020, 10:39 PM
i will be brutal
As is the norm for his new life, sleep eludes him, and so he strolls the familiar regions as well as the foreign. The spring rain is gentle across his back tonight as mud cakes on his hooves but he doesn’t seem to mind. His pace is steady despite the way he squints in the moonless darkness. Trees have sprung up and grown strong since his absence or perhaps this is a new land entirely, forged by the rearranged continent. The drowned kingdoms are missed but he’s doing his best to adjust to all the changes.
He pauses beneath an oak that looks roughly as old as he truly is, though he doesn’t notice, and he admires the hush of night. There is no sound of life around him beyond the gentle pitter-patter of rain on new leaves. All the birds are in their nests with their hatchlings while the deer and foxes have bundled down with their young. He breathes in slowly through his nose and then exhales the breath just as carefully. There was no smell of rain when he was dead. He couldn’t even smell the gray ocean he often stood beside.
Larva smiles and the expression is genuine across his old face. Despite the spattering of scars across his head and body, he is a handsome creature with a statuesque physique. His broad shoulders have not withered in spite of time. But he was always too stubborn to let things like age or logic rule over him, wasn’t he? The thought draws a rasping laugh from him as the rain begins to drip lightly from his chin.
A twig snaps underfoot somewhere behind him and his left ear swivels to listen for further noise. Slowly, his head turns to face the stranger so that he might be able to stare with those sage green eyes. His smile fades from the edges of his lip but he does not glower or posture himself against the stranger. Instead, he remains calmed by the soothing weather as he offers a soft nod of his head.
“I’m afraid I can’t see as well as I used to. Come a little closer so I don’t have to strain my eyes,” he says, and years ago that might have been a trap with sharp teeth and agonizing venom waiting for the stranger. Isn’t is funny, how his lies have become truths? His smile gradually begins to return to his face.
He pauses beneath an oak that looks roughly as old as he truly is, though he doesn’t notice, and he admires the hush of night. There is no sound of life around him beyond the gentle pitter-patter of rain on new leaves. All the birds are in their nests with their hatchlings while the deer and foxes have bundled down with their young. He breathes in slowly through his nose and then exhales the breath just as carefully. There was no smell of rain when he was dead. He couldn’t even smell the gray ocean he often stood beside.
Larva smiles and the expression is genuine across his old face. Despite the spattering of scars across his head and body, he is a handsome creature with a statuesque physique. His broad shoulders have not withered in spite of time. But he was always too stubborn to let things like age or logic rule over him, wasn’t he? The thought draws a rasping laugh from him as the rain begins to drip lightly from his chin.
A twig snaps underfoot somewhere behind him and his left ear swivels to listen for further noise. Slowly, his head turns to face the stranger so that he might be able to stare with those sage green eyes. His smile fades from the edges of his lip but he does not glower or posture himself against the stranger. Instead, he remains calmed by the soothing weather as he offers a soft nod of his head.
“I’m afraid I can’t see as well as I used to. Come a little closer so I don’t have to strain my eyes,” he says, and years ago that might have been a trap with sharp teeth and agonizing venom waiting for the stranger. Isn’t is funny, how his lies have become truths? His smile gradually begins to return to his face.