[P] Endless Sky

[Eik]

In the long, bright hours of the day he works at his letters. Diligently, alone, mind narrowed to grip the pen tight but not too tight. Reading has come surprisingly quickly to him, but writing is where the real struggle lies. He practices with the words he most likes- clementine, vocation, s e r   e n   d i  p i t  y; but not even the novelty of these words is enough to hold his attention. We lost count of the time's he's fallen asleep with pen to paper, waking to a large black streak across the page... It would be comical if it were not such a waste of time and resources. 

But we digress. When the shadows begin to lap at the walls, he slips from the court and into the wilderness, into the desert as it comes to life with the slowly rising symphony of crickets chirping and the wind singing softly through sandstone hallways and desert oak. In the long-limbed twilight birds twitter and lizards scramble, noisy but unseen. 

And as twilight caves to night the Desert unveils her true beauty. A hushed silence falls, unless the wind decides otherwise, broken only by the occasional call of hawk or coyote. The stars take the stage and his soul takes to the vast, unknowable (unknowing) sky. The desert, the ocean, the night sky- Only before grand space does he feel like he can really breathe.

(The secret is that all desert creatures love the night-- but only the godless ones are honest about it.)

The problem is that he cannot sleep. So on this night he winds his way through the dunes to the pillar that holds up the sky of this world. It is not the peak he's after (there's nothing the gods can do for him) but the foothills of the mountain. A borrowed satchel is slung unfamiliar and uncomfortable over his shoulder.

("You're draining my supplies" the herbalist's eyes were tired, so tired. He would think of them later, as he walked. "You want to sleep? Find it in the foothills, near the water. Look for little pink-white blooms, but it is the roots you want. You'll know the smell." a sharp smile. "Be careful with them. And by Solis, take care of that wound!" She threw the leather bag at him haphazardly, and turned back to her half-dead patients, the ones who would most likely die but gods, they put up a hell of a fight .)

It did not occur to him, until he was at the foot of the mountain, that he could not see colors very well in the dark. Very well, the day is not so far away- the sky is already blushing in anticipation. So he stands patiently, eyes half-closed as he listens to the wind and the occasional pilgrim passing on their way to Veneror Peak. As he waits he uses his telekinesis to prod absent-mindedly but persistently at the gash on his shoulder. And with another part of his mind he practices his letters, repeating, again and again, 

Clementine,
Vocation,
Serendipity.

-     -     -
There is no better way to know us
E I K
than as two wolves, come separately to a wood

@Moira whoosh, sudden muse! Surprise, I hope this is alright <3