THORVALD
There's birdsong in the air, so bright and cheerful and utterly sweet, that most would be hard pressed to not smile. To not take a second and merely listen to the colorful little creatures arc, dance, sing and flit back and forth against the picturesque backdrop of dawn's pastel hues. They sing to the ocean and the sky, and they sing back.
But there is one at the cliff's who does not sing. Who doesn't see them, not really. The wind touseled his braided hair, ran it's airy fingers through his beard and caressed along his face. The sea roared and crashed against the steep rocks, again and again in an age old fight. The cliff will stand victorious until it does not, losing itself slowly over time. The salt spray will make his already unruly hair curl this way and that until it's tangled within itself, not that he minded much.
Instead, unfocused eyes peered out at the horizon. He's rather like this cliff, he thought with an apathetic tilt of his head, as finally he animated. As if someone finally reached to pull his strings reluctantly. Or that he is very much still alive, when all things considered, he should be bones at the bottom of the sea. But it is not at the insistence of the sea, or the bird song, or the air's sweet and melodic caress. It is at the feel of someone wet and warm, trickling from nostril in a languid stream. It is the taste of it on his lips as it dipped and curved and finally let go. It coated the grass beneath him like rubies carelessly tossed, the occasional one stained the edge of the cliff from white to a muddied crimson.
A reminder that he is very much alive, and he should not spend the day waxing poetic about his own follied existence.
"Hn." The noise is exhaled as a grunt, his hooves carried him away from the point he had been perilously close to. This place is not like the rest of the places he has visited, and he has visited a lot, in this thing he is supposed to call life. There is a sense of serenity here, subtle as it tried to poke at the shroud he wore around himself. Inviting his tensed muscles to relax and enjoy a new beginning. Another new start.
Another drop of blood released it's grip on his chin, and he's reminded that he can't really enjoy himself, and can't bring himself to care either. It will stop eventually, the bleeding. So will the grim thoughts dragging their insidous thoughts across his mind. All he has to do it wander, and wait.
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