Truth be had, he had not expected to make it to the cliff tops, not truly; he had been warned that he was too young, too soft, and rightfully so. He had had very little room thus far to accomplish things on his own, always seeming to find himself in need of assistance before making it very far. The desert, the shrines, the sicknesses- it would seem his own body was trying to reject the very thing which he craved, his independence.
And still, Ipomoea's determination had seemed to outweigh the odds, tipping them just so slightly in his favor for once.
But Ipomoea didn’t allow himself to dwell on the fact of his accomplishment, not for long: there was a world to be seen, starting here and now at the height of Terrastella. The sun was golden, the wind tugged at his hair and the ocean crashed hundreds of feet below him. The salt from the ocean hung heavily in the air, so abundandtly that Po could smell it, taste it, he could feel its spray upon his face, waking his senses as though they had been hiding within a deep slumber without his even knowing it. Everything felt heightened; as if he were soaring without needing to leave the ground. The endless ocean, so far below him yet eye level on the horizon--it was breathtaking, intriguing: did they meet together there, the sea and sky, melding into each other to become one? Or did they have no end, continuing on forever in a race to get—to where? Maybe, just maybe, one day he would understand.
He had come here for a reason, and it wasn't the sea. A flower hid here, dear to him in that it shared his name, yet it hid from him, its (almost) brother. He hoped to find it before nightfall, when its bloom would start.
But all that he found instead was a shadow.
It descended rather rapidly, striking the ground at a speed he hadn’t imagined sustainable—or was his mind simply playing tricks on him now? For the shadow seemed to solidify, take form, move on its own without any definitive thing there to cast it. How could it be its own creator..?
There was a moment of hesitation, a heartbeat skipped. And then Ipomoea was moving, the flower and coastline forgotten, consumed by this new mystery that had planted itself so nicely in front of him, a gift just waiting to be unwrapped, potential dangers be damned! He followed the shadow, and the songbird followed him, wings matching legs beat for beat, stride for stride, faster and faster so that he might bring himself close enough to see that the moving shadow—
Was actually a horse?
A goliath of a horse maybe, with something huge and long trailing after him, seemingly consuming him, but still a horse. It was too late to stop now, for surely if he could see this other figure surely he was not hidden, either. So he continued forward, albeit much more slowly and collected now, as if Po thought he should be embarrassed of his over-excitement from just a moment ago.
“Hi there? I don’t suppose you’ve seen any flowers up here? Or well, flower buds, they shouldn’t have bloomed yet, not for at least-“ a pause here, to scrutinize the position of the sun, “another hour maybe, I guess."
Back to the important matters.
@damascus
hello word vomit ;o;
