06-08-2020, 11:57 PM
He is a stranger in a strange land.
He’s come to see Beqanna for himself, from its rolling idyllic hills to its deep canyons and all the spaces in between. He’s come open and willing to learn, to see but not leave a hoofprint of his own behind, because he does not plan on staying. Because besides their vastness and majesty, the sunrise lands are known to harbor far darker sights. And he does not plan on being around long enough to rest his eyes on those.
Finian breathes in the fresh scent of early fall as he tracks his gaze upwards towards the Mountain in the distance. A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, because this is the crowning jewel of the entire place. It is indeed a marvelous sight with its jagged grey peaks cutting into the blue sky, seemingly piercing the heavens. Oh, the rumors he’s heard about the great rise! Surely, less of them true than to be believed by the gossiping masses. He squares his shoulders and moves in for a closer look, unable to resist the call of the unknown.
The journey is pleasant but longer than he anticipates. By the culmination of it, stars have begun to blink into existence far above his head. The gently rolling hills have become steep inclines this close to the massive mountain, and he must crane his head at a sharp angle to visually take any of it in. <b>“You sure are a great beauty, aren’t you?”</b> Finian thinks he’ll circumnavigate the slopes in the morning, take a story back home to tell his children some day of the lovely beast of a mountain he’s finally seen for himself.
But first, sleep must come. Already, his eyes seem to sink with the weight of all his wandering. Soon, he curls up at the base of the Mountain, his dreams coming quickly after that. Finian dreams that the Mountain is alive, groaning and rumbling in its own sleep beside him. He rolls over at one point, his back pressed into the layers of silt and limestone, only to feel the earth rattle against his spine.
In the morning, he yawns and stretches and shakes a layer of dust from his pale coat. Unbeknownst to him, some of it clings fast regardless, seeping and soaking into his skin. The stallion is none the wiser – not a first – to the consequences of his visit. He circles the Mountain, makes his memories, and leaves <i>almost</i> as he had intended. But the hoofprint he presses into the earth remains behind, becomes different, too.
ooc: Finian is claiming cloven hooves please!
He’s come to see Beqanna for himself, from its rolling idyllic hills to its deep canyons and all the spaces in between. He’s come open and willing to learn, to see but not leave a hoofprint of his own behind, because he does not plan on staying. Because besides their vastness and majesty, the sunrise lands are known to harbor far darker sights. And he does not plan on being around long enough to rest his eyes on those.
Finian breathes in the fresh scent of early fall as he tracks his gaze upwards towards the Mountain in the distance. A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, because this is the crowning jewel of the entire place. It is indeed a marvelous sight with its jagged grey peaks cutting into the blue sky, seemingly piercing the heavens. Oh, the rumors he’s heard about the great rise! Surely, less of them true than to be believed by the gossiping masses. He squares his shoulders and moves in for a closer look, unable to resist the call of the unknown.
The journey is pleasant but longer than he anticipates. By the culmination of it, stars have begun to blink into existence far above his head. The gently rolling hills have become steep inclines this close to the massive mountain, and he must crane his head at a sharp angle to visually take any of it in. <b>“You sure are a great beauty, aren’t you?”</b> Finian thinks he’ll circumnavigate the slopes in the morning, take a story back home to tell his children some day of the lovely beast of a mountain he’s finally seen for himself.
But first, sleep must come. Already, his eyes seem to sink with the weight of all his wandering. Soon, he curls up at the base of the Mountain, his dreams coming quickly after that. Finian dreams that the Mountain is alive, groaning and rumbling in its own sleep beside him. He rolls over at one point, his back pressed into the layers of silt and limestone, only to feel the earth rattle against his spine.
In the morning, he yawns and stretches and shakes a layer of dust from his pale coat. Unbeknownst to him, some of it clings fast regardless, seeping and soaking into his skin. The stallion is none the wiser – not a first – to the consequences of his visit. He circles the Mountain, makes his memories, and leaves <i>almost</i> as he had intended. But the hoofprint he presses into the earth remains behind, becomes different, too.
ooc: Finian is claiming cloven hooves please!