chest: CLOSED — Thoughts — "Speech" — Bonded
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The day the news spread, he had left the Court... and since then, it felt like he never stopped walking. Many moons ago, he stopped counting the days - or was it now weeks?... months?
After all this time and underneath the armor that rubbed against his skin, he felt his hips and sore ribs, was sure he could see the sharpness of his cheeks out of the corner of his vision. Even in this state he was hardly just skin and bones - no, he was still a formidable foe and towering figure. But it was certainly shocking, to see him sleepless with shadowed features and visibly worn.
Even so, there was anger — and resentment — beating a wardrum tune behind the ivory bars that guarded a furious and feeble heart. Really, he'd be a fool to say he knew what he felt - he did not know if it was frustration or pride or disgrace. Whether he was sick or strong, competent or foolhardy. All he knew was the surge that bit his heels and sunk its claws in deep drove him harder, madder. It wound the spring inside his ribcage and coiled it tight, nimble twitches of a phantom finger threatening to release it without preparation or warning.
Even after all this time walking, all this time in relative silence... he didn't know what he felt, but he knew he hated it. He despised the urge that kept him moving forward, resented the voice that told him everyone was wrong and her pool of blood did not ever end at the Steppe. He was an unwise man clinging to a fever dream of hope, and in this moment he hated this impulsiveness that drove him.
The day he left the Court, he had silently shed the title that had been burdening him for so long. He would never be the rule enactor for a madman, and suddenly the term "warden" sounded so much more sour when it slid across his tongue. It did not taste like sand; it tasted like screams and bitter, putrid ash. Why did the idea that Raum reminded the ex-warden of himself... oh, why did it make him so nauseous?
He knew she wouldn't be able to answer his questions, even if she wasn't just a corpse. So many times he swore he saw her disappearing just out of his sight, he was starting to question if he has gone mad..
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
At Tor's request, Circe once more took to the skies in hopes that her vantage point would prove beneficial to their search. So up she went, a letter clutched within her claws as she disappeared into the cool clouds and headed off far ahead of where her bonded was. And after what felt like hours.... finally! Finally she swore she caught the cool gray of @Seraphina's skin, her wild white hair and jagged stripes. The Bearded Vulture Wyvern's heart skipped a beat, wild eyes snapping open as she felt the wind whip along the feathers of her nape and the surge of adrenaline hit her veins.
With a careening cry she swooped sharply down, refusing to lose sight of the vision she saw. Her! came the telepathic trill that jolted Tor awake. Seraphina? Are you sure? was met with silence, Circe's focus shifted entirely onto her target.
She waited until she saw the figure head towards an area not fully shrouded by trees, and then Circe dove. The large wyvern's wings almost clipped the trees as she came in, and the landing was not at all silent.. Heavy talons and body thudding to the ground, turning the snow that always seemed to blanket the peak into a flurry. Circe towered over even Tor, which made her all that more imposing to the rest of Novus' residents.
She! But no collar! she telepathically quipped to her bonded, who was irritably trying to decipher where exactly Circe had landed. As the snow around her settled, crystal blue eyes amidst a bloody-colored sclera locked onto the figure who she was certain was Seraphina, the feathers of her crest ruffling as she met them with loud, trill chirps. Unaware of Tor's annoyance (or simply ignoring it), the large wyvern swiftly reached down to the talons that grasped the letter, plucked it gently and tossed it over towards the gray and white striped equine for them to read.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
art © memuii — texture stock © ofruin-stock — coding © inkbone
After all this time and underneath the armor that rubbed against his skin, he felt his hips and sore ribs, was sure he could see the sharpness of his cheeks out of the corner of his vision. Even in this state he was hardly just skin and bones - no, he was still a formidable foe and towering figure. But it was certainly shocking, to see him sleepless with shadowed features and visibly worn.
Even so, there was anger — and resentment — beating a wardrum tune behind the ivory bars that guarded a furious and feeble heart. Really, he'd be a fool to say he knew what he felt - he did not know if it was frustration or pride or disgrace. Whether he was sick or strong, competent or foolhardy. All he knew was the surge that bit his heels and sunk its claws in deep drove him harder, madder. It wound the spring inside his ribcage and coiled it tight, nimble twitches of a phantom finger threatening to release it without preparation or warning.
Even after all this time walking, all this time in relative silence... he didn't know what he felt, but he knew he hated it. He despised the urge that kept him moving forward, resented the voice that told him everyone was wrong and her pool of blood did not ever end at the Steppe. He was an unwise man clinging to a fever dream of hope, and in this moment he hated this impulsiveness that drove him.
The day he left the Court, he had silently shed the title that had been burdening him for so long. He would never be the rule enactor for a madman, and suddenly the term "warden" sounded so much more sour when it slid across his tongue. It did not taste like sand; it tasted like screams and bitter, putrid ash. Why did the idea that Raum reminded the ex-warden of himself... oh, why did it make him so nauseous?
He knew she wouldn't be able to answer his questions, even if she wasn't just a corpse. So many times he swore he saw her disappearing just out of his sight, he was starting to question if he has gone mad..
At Tor's request, Circe once more took to the skies in hopes that her vantage point would prove beneficial to their search. So up she went, a letter clutched within her claws as she disappeared into the cool clouds and headed off far ahead of where her bonded was. And after what felt like hours.... finally! Finally she swore she caught the cool gray of @
With a careening cry she swooped sharply down, refusing to lose sight of the vision she saw. Her! came the telepathic trill that jolted Tor awake. Seraphina? Are you sure? was met with silence, Circe's focus shifted entirely onto her target.
She waited until she saw the figure head towards an area not fully shrouded by trees, and then Circe dove. The large wyvern's wings almost clipped the trees as she came in, and the landing was not at all silent.. Heavy talons and body thudding to the ground, turning the snow that always seemed to blanket the peak into a flurry. Circe towered over even Tor, which made her all that more imposing to the rest of Novus' residents.
She! But no collar! she telepathically quipped to her bonded, who was irritably trying to decipher where exactly Circe had landed. As the snow around her settled, crystal blue eyes amidst a bloody-colored sclera locked onto the figure who she was certain was Seraphina, the feathers of her crest ruffling as she met them with loud, trill chirps. Unaware of Tor's annoyance (or simply ignoring it), the large wyvern swiftly reached down to the talons that grasped the letter, plucked it gently and tossed it over towards the gray and white striped equine for them to read.
art © memuii — texture stock © ofruin-stock — coding © inkbone
[ please tag @Torstein in all replies ]
I have three eyes
TWO TO LOOK ONE TO SEE
