veer
It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.
But you understand, don’t you?
But you understand, don’t you?
I
t is the glint of silver water cutting through the black char forests and the bone dead meadows that makes him fly closer. The glare dances along the undersides of his wings like a kaleidoscope of wealth. He feels like the sky as he drifts lazily downward like a feather on a breeze. He thinks of that river like an ocean (expansive but not enough to cover a world like him). But it's the sheen of silver and purple spiraling around and around and around like a storm that makes him quicken his descent. He decides to stay in Delumine just a little longer, just long enough to see how long all that lavender and lace can dance.
Each of his feathers sing to the tune of the violin, soft slicks of down and metal that rise and rise into a clamor when he lands on the riverbank. He tucks them to his sides, and lets the music wash away even the echo of him. Although he does not try very hard to be silent.
Veer, for the moment, is content to be nothing more than another metallic shadow along the river. He's content to watch her twirl and move like a storm cased in flesh (summer rain he thinks, she is more summer rain than the hurricane of violence in his own skin). The song seems fitting for her, wild and lovely and foolishly loud.
He watches her like a wolf watches a rabbit-- waiting, waiting, waiting.
@Mesnyi | "speaks" | notes: -lurk lurk-
