I S O R A T H

THE LONE WOLF DIES // THE PACK SURVIVES

The serenity of the forest was undeniable, a temple which had lovingly built and worshipped itself. The moss covered stones underfoot and the gnarled roots of the ancient trees it's corridors and staircases, the ancient's themselves it's secret keepers and eternal guardians. Sworn to uphold the majesty and splendor of the verdant sanctum until their vigil came to a close. Terrastella was beautiful, that went without saying, he glowed beneath Vespera's gentle twilight hue and exalted in her wild winds and bracing sea spray. He lay his head in her blessed meadows and felt her brother's visage upon his back and felt beloved, envigorated by the heat nestled within his gilded scales.

But there was something about the untouched places, the deep places of the earth not beneath the mountain's visage. Places sought by enraptured lovers, starry-eyed wayfarers and even those whose souls swirled turbulently in their depths.

And sometimes Sages felt the cosmic pull of the call, the song of the wayfarer, the lover  and the troubled alike.

He had left silently, a quiet word spoken to the guards who lingered in the halls of the Court and taken wing in their next breath. Ears filled with the rush of the wind and the breathless sigh of crystal and gold as they kissed against his skin. The pale stallion flew until he was no more than an apparition of starlight and gold on the horizon, falling and falling until the trees rose up to ensnare him in their embrace.

Wings nestled beneath the safety of his cloak spun in constellations and mist, Isorath walked beneath the lush emerald canopy, heralded by bird calls and the whispered song of the waters. Already his mind felt at peace, wrapped within the safety of the forest, absent of the troubles and ghosts which often lingered within it's hallowed halls. While he would never freely admit to possessing such thoughts, far too prideful in his appearance and other worldly visage, they wore on him. Did Gods carry such weight upon their lofty shoulders? Or were they above such mortal spears piercing their hearts? When Gods went to war or felt the sting of betrayal, did they weep and cast themselves into the night and return anew?

Heavy thoughts indeed, but they did not show upon his scaled face. An exquisite mask carved of marble and gold, crowned with a halo fit for a God. Lavender eyes clear crystalline pools that drank in the divine sights he had chosen to surround himself within, until they landed upon a creature that was not apart of this Sanctum's order. Another lost soul perhaps? Or one half of a whole, the moon awaiting the sun? A cloven hoof stilled upon the moss covered tree he had elected to walk across, the bones of the ancient a bridge for him to reach the less traveled halls.

Slowly, the starlit sage lowered himself upon the tree instead. A makeshift throne for him to peer down inquisitively at the ash coloured stranger with tangible smoke for tresses. One leg hung elegantly from his elevated seat, artfully styled to appear effortless. Bedecked in gold too, a man with an eye for finer things in life — a creature after his own heart. The rest of him became enveloped by his robe, his carefully braided hair meanwhile, cascaded down his scale shoulder and hung beside his porcelain leg. The purple and pastel blue flowers blooming brightly against the richness of their surroundings.

"You look troubled." Came his voice, soft and melodic. A breath on the wind, to those who were not in the presence. It was meant for the stranger and the stranger alone.