12-11-2022, 03:29 AM
I'VE WALKED THE EARTH AND THERE ARE SO FEW HERE THAT KNOW
HOW DARK THE NIGHT AND JUST HOW COLD THE WIND CAN BLOW
HOW DARK THE NIGHT AND JUST HOW COLD THE WIND CAN BLOW
He still has nightmares about the storm that had destroyed Beqanna—about the way he had been a part of it, even if it had not been on purpose.
He should not have responded to the call to the mountain, he knows this now. No matter how many times he tells himself that the world would have fallen apart even without him there (fate cannot be stopped, and given the state of destruction he is certain that Beqanna would have found a way to destroy herself no matter who had answered the call), it does nothing to abate the images that haunt him in the night.
It does not help that he had changed, too.
Wings made of moonlight now erupt from his sides, silver and glowing, but there is something else less tangible, something that he has not yet figured out—and given the state of the land, he is almost afraid to discover it. The only thing that he knows is that when he had gone to the mountain he’d had sharp teeth, that he had craved meat—the same way he had since he was born, no matter how unnatural that had been. After the storm had settled his teeth had been blunt, just like everyone else’s, and while he no longer hungered for flesh, there was still another monstrous longing on his tongue.
He distracts himself by walking—always walking. He walks through forest though he hardly sees the things that he passes; same trees, same plants, same things as always. But the spotted mare is different, and he catches sight of her at the edge of his vision, and before he can stop himself his pale head is tilting in her direction, and when he makes eye contact he cannot keep himself from uttering an automatic greeting: “Hello.”
He should not have responded to the call to the mountain, he knows this now. No matter how many times he tells himself that the world would have fallen apart even without him there (fate cannot be stopped, and given the state of destruction he is certain that Beqanna would have found a way to destroy herself no matter who had answered the call), it does nothing to abate the images that haunt him in the night.
It does not help that he had changed, too.
Wings made of moonlight now erupt from his sides, silver and glowing, but there is something else less tangible, something that he has not yet figured out—and given the state of the land, he is almost afraid to discover it. The only thing that he knows is that when he had gone to the mountain he’d had sharp teeth, that he had craved meat—the same way he had since he was born, no matter how unnatural that had been. After the storm had settled his teeth had been blunt, just like everyone else’s, and while he no longer hungered for flesh, there was still another monstrous longing on his tongue.
He distracts himself by walking—always walking. He walks through forest though he hardly sees the things that he passes; same trees, same plants, same things as always. But the spotted mare is different, and he catches sight of her at the edge of his vision, and before he can stop himself his pale head is tilting in her direction, and when he makes eye contact he cannot keep himself from uttering an automatic greeting: “Hello.”
T I E R N E N
@Snowbell