He comes here often. The crashing waves create the perfect white noise to muffle, sometimes erase entirely, the overeager buzzing of his mind.
(As each wave draws back, pebbles tumble over each other in chase of the sea, thrashing like mermaids. Giggling as only sea pebbles do, they laugh at him: 'all dreamers love the sea' before the waves swallow them once more.)
He passes the discarded mask without a second glance, mistaking it for driftwood and kelp. His attention is caught by a man with no hoofprints, who stares and stares at the dark and hungry sea. To the dappled grey it seems there are many stories in the curve of the taller man's spine, in the way it bows to the weight of time. He does not think he wants to live to be that old, but at the same time he can't imagine anything other than aging endlessly until someone takes his life by force. Living until moss and lichen take him over and he turns to stone-- or dying in a pool of his own blood. He has not ever pictured any other conclusion.
See- in the long years before coming to Novus, Eik built his life around certain assumptions: a framework to structure his mind so it would not consume itself. One such assumption is that he will die fighting. But this assumption was born in a different land, a crueler one. His framework needs revisiting but the problem now is that Eik isn't terribly imaginative, and so he hasn't thought much of what happens after death. Or even what happens before it- the loss of sight, sound, memory, movement. These thoughts only come to him now as he looks at the man tangled up in seaweed with the moon gleaming on his aging back.
Each step brings him closer and closer to the tall and rickety stallion, close enough now to see smooth scars catching the moonlight and the outline of bones. Close enough now to smell the horseflesh beneath the heavy salt smell of the sea. They stand even but apart and it is silent except for the gentle cycle of the ocean- the crash of a wave, the tumble of pebbles, the crash of a wave, and so on. In the silence between sounds, his mind reaches into the dark, uncertain what there is to find out there. Uncertain it wants to find anything at all.
Silence suits him. Hell it suits everyone, even the ones who don't realize it. Especially them. But nothing in this world lasts, and although it displeases him Eik is the one to gently break the peaceful silence.
(he has the oddest feeling, sometimes, that his choices are not his to make. All he wants is to be left alone to sleep forever, but here he is in the middle of the night, doing the thing he least wants to do. Other times he feels scarily alone, a speck of dust floating on the current of the universe. He does not know what is worse: slavery or loneliness) His voice is raised loud enough to be heard over the waves, but quiet enough to be easily ignored, if the older man should so choose- "Are you searching for something?"
- - - There is no better way to know us
E I K than as two wolves, come separately to a wood
@Eik My heart beats with joy again. You and Eik really make a difference in my stay here at Novus. Thank you for being here! Have some of my weirdest writing yet! <3
06-08-2018, 02:05 AM
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Rae [PM] Posts: 301 — Threads: 41 Signos: 15
The wind picks up, and at first he does not recognize the sound of bone striking bone. That once-familiar clatter combines with the ringing of bells-- using his tall companion, the wind is playing an eerie tune. In contrast, Eik absorbs all sounds except the slap of his mane on his neck with every gust.
Where he should feel fear, or at least caution, there is only a nervous sort of excitement-- and a strange calm that blankets it.
"I do not know how to pray."
(From the calm, anger slowly rises like a wave)
The old gods had been pleased most by actions, not words. So his kin prayed with their bodies. Fighting, feasting, fucking: they honored their gods by living and dying in passion and violence. At least that is what his people believed-- but how could they have been right, when in the end the gods let the world burn? All of it, even the great tree where life was born, gone in godless flame.
(It crests, then crashes on itself. In its wake, silence and darkness and the smell of hot iron (blood). And then nothing at all. No feeling, seeing, hearing. He becomes hollow as a vessel, as poised as the flat of the blade.)
He opens his eyes and sees only the half-hidden moon reflecting on the waves. What is the point of prayer? Either you are heard and ignored, or you are punished for wanting the wrong thing.
His heartbeat quickens as he thinks of his relationship with his creators, thump-thumping in his ears over the howl of the wind. The sea pebbles continue to tumble over themselves in fits of mocking giggles each time a wave recedes.
He doesn't know what is going on, he usually doesn't, but if there was ever a man to calmly play with the shit hand he was given, it was Eik. He searches himself for a prayer, for anything, and find no hopes, no dreams, no wants for himself or anyone else. "Even if I knew what to say." Another gust lovingly, violently plays with Turhan's thick mane. "I don't want the attention of the gods."
- - - There is no better way to know us
E I K than as two wolves, come separately to a wood