Creep around outside a bear cave long enough, eventually the bear will wake up.
But the world was moving on, taking Calliope and her fires with it. Raymond could either join her or die in the collapsing riftlands with Ruth. He had sharpened his blade for the occasion, seeking serenity in an old whetting tune. The calico peered wild-eyed at the rhythmic sway of blade against stone and pawed at the trailing hair on every third stroke. So passed the morning, much like any other, but mornings end.
Raymond stumbled into the open field under the night's watchful eye, the drone of Summer insects breaking across his consciousness like a rogue wave after the nightmare of silence that preceded it. He whirled where he stood, menacing darkness with a swing of his tail blade, sucking in air through the unbearable tightness in his chest. Beads of blood welled up along shallow claw marks tracing both shoulders.
Awful pragmatism (and a healthy dose of shock) stayed the urge to shout her name. The rift, ever a cruel mistress had with the wave of a proverbial hand torn out whole sections of the tapestry of reality as he knew it, letting the frayed threads flutter free like exposed nerves. The red stallion's battle-ready muscles twitched and jumped with no foe to cut down.
So he did nothing, made still by the weight of his own powerlessness, and wrestled together a sense of composure through shallow breaths and the ruthless utility of reconnaissance.
The field unfolded on all sides like a plush carpet, dotted with the bulbs of dormant summer flowers; the night sky seemed equally vast - but infinitely colder - overhead. Nocturnal sounds receded to white noise buzzing in his skull. He caught the scent of someone familiar on the warm air, but all that remained of Ruth clung to his flesh the way that Ruth herself could not.
Calliope was somewhere close. There was much to be done before he allowed himself the privilege of mourning, so he turned his back on the smoldering remnant of the riftgate and started walking through the unfamiliar territory, tail blade at the ready.
Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
@Calliope
