It was not difficult to find the river.
It roared, like a slumbering lion, easy to hear even from a distance as a soft purring. It called to itself, white waters demanding attention from the lonesome wayfarers that walked the forest paths. Kaladin was one of these forelorn travelers - he had heard the river's call, and decided to answer.
He followed the white-water rumble, weaving between closely-packed pines and striding across mossy earth, cool against his hooves. He had to pause, briefly, to relish in the sensation. All his years spent in a stone tomb, he had wished to understand what it felt like, to simply walk across the wild paths of the forest, to know the brush of tree branches on his flank and touch of ferns against his cannon bones. The ground was soft here, like a pillow woven with rotted leaves and lush moss, pine needles buried beneath the layer of musky earth. The earth's touch was more beautiful then he could have imagine. It freed him, made him feel like he could once again break free of his mortal chains and take to the skies. He would become a howling wind to rattle the trees, or a rumble in the river's white waters.
The thought gave him hope, and drove him onwards into the forest, towards the purring waters in the distance. He had once read in one of the Dawn Court's scrolls that rivers and streams were sources of divine power, capable of washing away the sullied and unpure. Whether that was true or not, Kaladin certainly felt unpure - his legs were speckled with mud and grime, his neck painted with a thin white line of sweat, and his mane knotted and tangled with days of travel beneath changing elements. "Time for a bath," he admitted sullenly. "Mortal bodies are so trivially fragile."
Moments later, he found the river.
He emerged from the forest's embrace onto a rocky shore, greeted with a frigid wind carrying water brine and the scent of fish. The water emanated a refreshing sort of iciness, beckoning in instead of frightening away. He walked along the bank for some time, seeking a shallow entrance where the torrent did not threaten to sweep him off his feet. He found a spot where the river narrowed and calmed, and strode carefully in, placing his hooves gently on the precarious river stones beneath the moving waters. He did not notice the smile that touched upon his lips as the rapids moved against his pelt, cleaning away days of a traveler's weary toil. He moved forward again until he found a deeper spot, then dunked his head beneath the water, eyelids locking down against the sting. He let the river move through his mane, un-tangling it with the gentle touch only nature could bear.
He pulled his head from beneath the surface at long last, sending shimmering water droplets in an arc around him. With quick, telekinetic strokes, he braided the mane back against his neck, letting the wet strands drape across his back. Mood now considerably improved, he continued to move down river, eyes now flicking this way and that in reminder of his true goal - the relic.
He did not find it, but he soon found company instead. And a familiar one at that.
The first one he recognized was the stocky man for the canyon - the one with the eyes like thunder who had demanded the cliff faces chisel him a path. Now, however, he lay still as a river stone, with the briny waters wrapping around his crimson flank. Kaldin narrowed his eyes, unsure whether he should be worried or amused. A moment later, another traveler came towards them, clearly sharing Kaladin's concerns. "Are you alright?" spoke the golden man. In another time, Kaladin would have been utterly fascinated by the sheen of of the his coat and the mechanics of the gem embedded in his chest, but his thoughts currently lay elsewhere.
He sloshed forward the final steps across the river to nudge the burly man unceremoniously with his hoof. "Well, he's certainly alive." He told the golden stranger with a mocking grin.
@Martin @Camdis this post is trash and I apologize
It roared, like a slumbering lion, easy to hear even from a distance as a soft purring. It called to itself, white waters demanding attention from the lonesome wayfarers that walked the forest paths. Kaladin was one of these forelorn travelers - he had heard the river's call, and decided to answer.
He followed the white-water rumble, weaving between closely-packed pines and striding across mossy earth, cool against his hooves. He had to pause, briefly, to relish in the sensation. All his years spent in a stone tomb, he had wished to understand what it felt like, to simply walk across the wild paths of the forest, to know the brush of tree branches on his flank and touch of ferns against his cannon bones. The ground was soft here, like a pillow woven with rotted leaves and lush moss, pine needles buried beneath the layer of musky earth. The earth's touch was more beautiful then he could have imagine. It freed him, made him feel like he could once again break free of his mortal chains and take to the skies. He would become a howling wind to rattle the trees, or a rumble in the river's white waters.
The thought gave him hope, and drove him onwards into the forest, towards the purring waters in the distance. He had once read in one of the Dawn Court's scrolls that rivers and streams were sources of divine power, capable of washing away the sullied and unpure. Whether that was true or not, Kaladin certainly felt unpure - his legs were speckled with mud and grime, his neck painted with a thin white line of sweat, and his mane knotted and tangled with days of travel beneath changing elements. "Time for a bath," he admitted sullenly. "Mortal bodies are so trivially fragile."
Moments later, he found the river.
He emerged from the forest's embrace onto a rocky shore, greeted with a frigid wind carrying water brine and the scent of fish. The water emanated a refreshing sort of iciness, beckoning in instead of frightening away. He walked along the bank for some time, seeking a shallow entrance where the torrent did not threaten to sweep him off his feet. He found a spot where the river narrowed and calmed, and strode carefully in, placing his hooves gently on the precarious river stones beneath the moving waters. He did not notice the smile that touched upon his lips as the rapids moved against his pelt, cleaning away days of a traveler's weary toil. He moved forward again until he found a deeper spot, then dunked his head beneath the water, eyelids locking down against the sting. He let the river move through his mane, un-tangling it with the gentle touch only nature could bear.
He pulled his head from beneath the surface at long last, sending shimmering water droplets in an arc around him. With quick, telekinetic strokes, he braided the mane back against his neck, letting the wet strands drape across his back. Mood now considerably improved, he continued to move down river, eyes now flicking this way and that in reminder of his true goal - the relic.
He did not find it, but he soon found company instead. And a familiar one at that.
The first one he recognized was the stocky man for the canyon - the one with the eyes like thunder who had demanded the cliff faces chisel him a path. Now, however, he lay still as a river stone, with the briny waters wrapping around his crimson flank. Kaldin narrowed his eyes, unsure whether he should be worried or amused. A moment later, another traveler came towards them, clearly sharing Kaladin's concerns. "Are you alright?" spoke the golden man. In another time, Kaladin would have been utterly fascinated by the sheen of of the his coat and the mechanics of the gem embedded in his chest, but his thoughts currently lay elsewhere.
He sloshed forward the final steps across the river to nudge the burly man unceremoniously with his hoof. "Well, he's certainly alive." He told the golden stranger with a mocking grin.
@Martin @Camdis this post is trash and I apologize
