08-29-2016, 04:16 PM
BUT HOW COULD YOU KNOW THE SWEETEST SUFFERING
OF MOVING ON
OF MOVING ON
They flock like flies to a carcass. Many already know Magnus, uttering grated words in hopes of triggering his memory. They want him. They yearn for his company in the growth of their kingdoms, and Tiphon takes note of this. Unlike them, he does nothing to swoon the stallion or stare at him with hopeful eyes. There is a brief hollowness in his eyes while his mind reels with the news of the Gates. He thumbs through the underlying tones and hidden stories of Magnus’ tale, eyeing him with mild curiosity before inching a step backward as the group enlarges.
The air thickens with their voices, their bodies shuffling in greeting and anticipation, all while Tiphon remains a statue rooted to his place. His mane runs down his neck like silk, his forelock tumbling to the left side of his chiseled face. ”I see,” he finally murmurs almost to no one at all as the clamor continues. The options are weighed. Magnus is a deserter because the new monarchy wasn’t to his standards, but on the opposite hand, if one disagrees with the viewpoints of their ruler to such an extreme, why stay and condone it?
There is a long pause as though Tiphon will never answer. His ears swivel, listening, but never really comprehending what the others have said. They don’t matter. Their smiles and reminiscing means nothing to him, only Magnus and the predicament he has found himself in.
The rage that incited Magnus’ abandonment lies deep within. There is a monster inside them all, but the buckskin had unleashed it and ran with it. It clouded his judgment and carried him far from the home he knew. How long would it be until it surfaces again and lures Magnus back to the Gates or to another kingdom, his loyalties left fleeting and jeopardized? Tiphon clutches onto this idea briefly before finally speaking, his voice gravely. ”Well, should you figure out what you want, the Dale would be willing to take you in and offer you another chance,” he won’t linger here rummaging through his mind to convince Magnus or guide him like a newborn. He knows the kingdoms, knows the tales and histories of most. He can handle figuring out what he wants and needs.
Tiphon doesn’t offer the Dale on a silver platter with a list of reasons to come. Instead, the proposal hangs idle in the air between them, luring Magnus into his memories of back when the Dale has uttered his name (but Tiphon is unaware of this). It carries the lost scents of the deciduous trees and babbling brooks, of happiness and hope.
With a slow dip of his head and a coy grin Tiphon’s body dissolves into nothingness.
The air thickens with their voices, their bodies shuffling in greeting and anticipation, all while Tiphon remains a statue rooted to his place. His mane runs down his neck like silk, his forelock tumbling to the left side of his chiseled face. ”I see,” he finally murmurs almost to no one at all as the clamor continues. The options are weighed. Magnus is a deserter because the new monarchy wasn’t to his standards, but on the opposite hand, if one disagrees with the viewpoints of their ruler to such an extreme, why stay and condone it?
There is a long pause as though Tiphon will never answer. His ears swivel, listening, but never really comprehending what the others have said. They don’t matter. Their smiles and reminiscing means nothing to him, only Magnus and the predicament he has found himself in.
The rage that incited Magnus’ abandonment lies deep within. There is a monster inside them all, but the buckskin had unleashed it and ran with it. It clouded his judgment and carried him far from the home he knew. How long would it be until it surfaces again and lures Magnus back to the Gates or to another kingdom, his loyalties left fleeting and jeopardized? Tiphon clutches onto this idea briefly before finally speaking, his voice gravely. ”Well, should you figure out what you want, the Dale would be willing to take you in and offer you another chance,” he won’t linger here rummaging through his mind to convince Magnus or guide him like a newborn. He knows the kingdoms, knows the tales and histories of most. He can handle figuring out what he wants and needs.
Tiphon doesn’t offer the Dale on a silver platter with a list of reasons to come. Instead, the proposal hangs idle in the air between them, luring Magnus into his memories of back when the Dale has uttered his name (but Tiphon is unaware of this). It carries the lost scents of the deciduous trees and babbling brooks, of happiness and hope.
With a slow dip of his head and a coy grin Tiphon’s body dissolves into nothingness.
TIPHON
STARLACE AND INFECTION