Raymond.
and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
when the man comes around
Raymond straightened. Of course she would be there.
No court in the world could contain the swarthy unicorn's unbridled, savage grace. No chain in the world could hold her. Standing strong and proud in defiance of the inexorable sea, she looked to him as though an image that once existed only in his mind had sprung forth into flesh and blood for all to see. He felt queerly possessive of it, vaguely resentful that it should see the storm-grey light of day even as he waltzed into her midst with a complicated smile.
That expression probably said more than he'd have said to anyone who wasn't Calliope. Caught out like an exposed nerve, his usual unflappable façade had slipped to reveal the wounds that knitted so much more slowly than the clawmarks now vanished from his proud withers and a melancholy pensiveness better suited for a dimly-lit room and a snifter of aged brandy. They warred now with his genuine satisfaction at seeing her thus, and he was not so self-conscious as to correct it.
Lies and pretense did not become Raymond and Calliope. Their friendship had been forged at knifepoint.
He leaned into her touch with a cat-like slow blink and responded by brushing her flank lightly with the flat of his blade before falling easily into step with her.
Have you come to see what secrets this ocean might have swallowed? she asked.
Raymond chuckled softly as he cast an appraising glance down along the beach. "I guess you could say that." In many ways, the ocean and the Rift had a lot of things in common. They could sweep you out to sea as quickly as you'd like, then chew you up and spit what's left of you back out so that even your own mother wouldn't recognize you. The thought stung, but it steeled him too. This was not the Rift; they would not find any such tragic secrets on these shores.
He considered bringing up what they had learned in the space between their two meetings, but it seemed improper. The dread sea demanded a sort of reverence that scorned all consideration of trivialities, and that was indeed trivial. In their path, though, he could make out the beginnings of an imposing, indistinct mass of sand-caked ivory. Intrigued, he pointed it out with a bob of his head.
"That seems promising."
No court in the world could contain the swarthy unicorn's unbridled, savage grace. No chain in the world could hold her. Standing strong and proud in defiance of the inexorable sea, she looked to him as though an image that once existed only in his mind had sprung forth into flesh and blood for all to see. He felt queerly possessive of it, vaguely resentful that it should see the storm-grey light of day even as he waltzed into her midst with a complicated smile.
That expression probably said more than he'd have said to anyone who wasn't Calliope. Caught out like an exposed nerve, his usual unflappable façade had slipped to reveal the wounds that knitted so much more slowly than the clawmarks now vanished from his proud withers and a melancholy pensiveness better suited for a dimly-lit room and a snifter of aged brandy. They warred now with his genuine satisfaction at seeing her thus, and he was not so self-conscious as to correct it.
Lies and pretense did not become Raymond and Calliope. Their friendship had been forged at knifepoint.
He leaned into her touch with a cat-like slow blink and responded by brushing her flank lightly with the flat of his blade before falling easily into step with her.
Have you come to see what secrets this ocean might have swallowed? she asked.
Raymond chuckled softly as he cast an appraising glance down along the beach. "I guess you could say that." In many ways, the ocean and the Rift had a lot of things in common. They could sweep you out to sea as quickly as you'd like, then chew you up and spit what's left of you back out so that even your own mother wouldn't recognize you. The thought stung, but it steeled him too. This was not the Rift; they would not find any such tragic secrets on these shores.
He considered bringing up what they had learned in the space between their two meetings, but it seemed improper. The dread sea demanded a sort of reverence that scorned all consideration of trivialities, and that was indeed trivial. In their path, though, he could make out the beginnings of an imposing, indistinct mass of sand-caked ivory. Intrigued, he pointed it out with a bob of his head.
"That seems promising."
@Calliope
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
