And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder
One of the four beasts saying, 'Come and see.' and I saw.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
One of the four beasts saying, 'Come and see.' and I saw.
Raymond had a survivor's awareness. He knew long before he let on that he was no longer alone by the silhouette of pale moonwashed grey against the rolling hills. There was no need to stand guard when anything within a body's length of you was ripe for the reaping.
He tilted an ear toward the sound of Thranduil's voice, fielding a wordless question from his bonded as he signalled a pause in their peculiar game. Only then did he turn, grey eyes gone silver in the moonlight.
Raymond had seen Caligo before. He had seen many gods, of many shapes and sizes and creeds, and the look in his eye was not that of a man impressed by any of them. To him, beauty was at best a matter of happenstance and at worst an active contrivance meant to deceive - and the red stallion was neither impressed by coincidence nor won over by deceit. Show him a beautiful face and he'd describe to you its flaws in brutal detail.
Thus it was that the first impression Thranduil offered him was one of extreme shallowness. The lopsided shadow of a smirk that turned one corner of his mouth was more of a gift than a reaction, a participation trophy for being brave or foolhardy enough to walk up to an armed stranger and initiate conversation.
"Your standards seem very low," he said blandly, the tone of his words explaining in no uncertain terms that he had seen the lady of the land and had found her beauty little to be remarked upon - but then he personally had no interest in beauty. Beauty fades. Beauty can be undone.
Gods can be forgotten or killed, however lovely they are.
"What brings you here?"
He tilted an ear toward the sound of Thranduil's voice, fielding a wordless question from his bonded as he signalled a pause in their peculiar game. Only then did he turn, grey eyes gone silver in the moonlight.
Raymond had seen Caligo before. He had seen many gods, of many shapes and sizes and creeds, and the look in his eye was not that of a man impressed by any of them. To him, beauty was at best a matter of happenstance and at worst an active contrivance meant to deceive - and the red stallion was neither impressed by coincidence nor won over by deceit. Show him a beautiful face and he'd describe to you its flaws in brutal detail.
Thus it was that the first impression Thranduil offered him was one of extreme shallowness. The lopsided shadow of a smirk that turned one corner of his mouth was more of a gift than a reaction, a participation trophy for being brave or foolhardy enough to walk up to an armed stranger and initiate conversation.
"Your standards seem very low," he said blandly, the tone of his words explaining in no uncertain terms that he had seen the lady of the land and had found her beauty little to be remarked upon - but then he personally had no interest in beauty. Beauty fades. Beauty can be undone.
Gods can be forgotten or killed, however lovely they are.
"What brings you here?"
@Thranduil
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
