we all wish for forever
He waits throughout the night, his eyes turned ever towards the horizon. The bridge is quiet, save for the murmurs and vibrations of the berries and the crashing of the waves against the stone. Occasionally whispers break out in the darkness, rumors flying back and forth like wildfire in the night, sparking anew with each explosion across the ocean.
Through it all Po is silent.
He hardly dares to breathe, let alone speak; only the beating of his heart and the roaring of his blood adds to the fray. He waits and he watches, with both dread and expectation.
When the sun finally breaks forth through the darkness, nothing has changed. The wall is as indomitable as ever, its ivy impassable, its presence foreboding. He wants to scream, wants to beg to know the purpose - surely there must be one? Surely this can't be it? Why cause all this for nothing?
The water is a roar in the back of his mind, waves spilling over the bridge and showering him with water and salt. It laps at his hooves playfully before slowly receding, dribbling back into the ocean as if inviting him to follow.
But to protect, or to drown him? He can see fins in the waves, bony spines protruding like hardened rainbows each time the water breaks, massive creatures who disturb the water as they swim past. Ipomoea is not afraid of them, although he knows he should be; his magic is a sweet lullaby in his veins, promising him he’s safe (as if safety were anything more than a fallacy), promising him…
He wonders then what he would find, if the waves succeeded and he let them take him.
Was there a hidden castle, where something other than equines reigned supreme over all the other sea creatures? Or would he find only kelp forests and coral reefs, endless mazes to lose himself in? Would he find wonders beyond compare, or only death? He imagined the shoal surrounding him even now would come to his aid, were he in need, but he supposed there was only one way to find out.
The sun rises to his left, feeble rays struggling to break through the clouds as the child of dawn waits upon a bridge blacker than the night before. He lets out a sigh, his breath and body shaking in the wind.
There's nothing for us here, Odet speaks quietly in his mind, plucking at the Appaloosa's mane gently. Let's go and be done with it.
Still, Ipomoea stands there a minute longer, unsure if he should be waiting or fleeing.
But waiting for what, and fleeing from whom? His mind is begging to know the answer, inching ever closer to the wall. Around him all the horses are mingling, their whispers barely louder than the thrumming of the berries - but they fade into the background the closer he steps, until ivy is all he can see. It fills his vision with hues of green, striations swimming across his vision like waves imprinted in the leaves. And when the wind plays across the bridge, it catches the leaves and sets them to dancing, turning them this way and that until they're glistening in the early morning light.
With a frown he reaches out, closer and closer -
No.
He wants to touch the ivy. Surely, if he does, it will tell him something? His magic leaps eagerly in his blood, daring him to take a hold of those berries, to rip them from the wall and hold them close to his own heart, but caution tells him he shouldn't. It's magic that's made this wall, magic that's raised an island in a day, fickle magic from fickle gods. His magic would be useless against their's, even though it begs to try.
Abruptly he pulls away, ears tilting backwards. And then with a shake of his head he turns away, hooves echoing against the dark stone bridge. Even as others arrive and step forward to investigate the wall for themselves, Ipomoea walks against the crowd, against the flow of traffic. It's a long way back to the shore, but he doesn't look back; one step after the other, and he's on his way home.
@LASAIRIAN | "speaks" | notes: sorry for the delay!
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