Rock of ages, rock of ages
Still rolling, keep rolling
***
Still rolling, keep rolling
***
"With all due respect," Raymond interceded softly, his voice colored yellow by the odd upward tilt of his lips, and neither by his words not his actions could one say for certain how much respect he truly felt he owed the night mother in that fleeting moment, "I have seen what happens to societies who dream of making peace with their invaders."
Before his mind's eye danced the memory of their combat with the Thunderbirds, their desperate reckoning with the wanton savagery of storms made flesh. Their talons had carved reminders into his flesh of the dangers of domestication and the greater perils of attachment. The one warning, perhaps, he could heed, but even for him the second had come far too late. He could never bring himself to trust beasts that had seen fit to assail them unprovoked, could not sleep soundly with such vipers coiled beside his bed.
He could not do more than smile that odd surface smile at the knowledge that the goddess of night should clamor so swiftly after such avatars of destruction so close on the heels of despots who would have seen her kingdom burn for the sale of their vicious, self-serving vanity.
Perhaps in that smile was something we innately recognize but have not yet named: the happy anticipation of being able to feel contempt. His tail blade itched, held in it's easy arc only by a lifetime of careful discipline.
"Turning the other cheek may be a noble gesture, but it's a mistake that mortals only get to make once."
The red stallion glanced smoothly at Calliope, ignoring the urge to remember her eyes blossoming with the morbid flowers of her sacrifice. She would want their blood, for certain, and while Raymond didn't share her battle lust he shared every inch of her survivor's spirit.
What game was Caligo playing? What part did she see them playing in her grand design?
Before his mind's eye danced the memory of their combat with the Thunderbirds, their desperate reckoning with the wanton savagery of storms made flesh. Their talons had carved reminders into his flesh of the dangers of domestication and the greater perils of attachment. The one warning, perhaps, he could heed, but even for him the second had come far too late. He could never bring himself to trust beasts that had seen fit to assail them unprovoked, could not sleep soundly with such vipers coiled beside his bed.
He could not do more than smile that odd surface smile at the knowledge that the goddess of night should clamor so swiftly after such avatars of destruction so close on the heels of despots who would have seen her kingdom burn for the sale of their vicious, self-serving vanity.
Perhaps in that smile was something we innately recognize but have not yet named: the happy anticipation of being able to feel contempt. His tail blade itched, held in it's easy arc only by a lifetime of careful discipline.
"Turning the other cheek may be a noble gesture, but it's a mistake that mortals only get to make once."
The red stallion glanced smoothly at Calliope, ignoring the urge to remember her eyes blossoming with the morbid flowers of her sacrifice. She would want their blood, for certain, and while Raymond didn't share her battle lust he shared every inch of her survivor's spirit.
What game was Caligo playing? What part did she see them playing in her grand design?
***
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
Raymond
And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns
When the man comes around.
aut viam inveniam aut faciam
