His creature fear makes his wary, eyeing the beaten path, the one he had so impulsively chosen to walk—had there really been a choice?—his heart racing; rabbit's skull thumping rhythmically against his breastbone as he moves; the lub-lub of that preternatural pulse joining. Three heartbeats, synchronised in his chest and mind, imploring him, driving him towards something mad and surely beautiful. The creature fear—the preything’s instinct—had never been strong enough, was unravelling itself on the tides of curiosity and the arrogant idea that he is more than mortal and so any adventure that calls is just that.
And not a foolish pursuit of an unknown, unknown.
His overlong hears peel forward, flicking as the sound begins now to thrum around him, closing in, squeezing him with each measured pump of its otherworldly heart drawing strange, irised blood through the air and through him, making them singular. One. The earth below and above, the sky, the far-seeing stretch of land that winds like a ribbon, ever hastening him to a passageway into a rift in the fabric of dreams. Can nothing ever just be normal? he thinks, but the thought is overcome by the furl and unfurl of his adventurous nature, like waves over rocks, they erode those figments of doubt and make them bright flames of seeking, instead.
He comes to the bridge, breathless and wanton and thrillful. His wide, red eyes draw across the bridge, through the passers-by and waiters that he joins now. He strides the peculiar arch of the bridge to a wall of ivy, woven like a wonderful tapestry of entwined leaves, illusory and dark, breathing with a hot throated exhales. It is here that the once-princeling coming to a stunned halt before the wide, gaping jaws of that queer, sealed entranceway, seeing now the myriad tiny hearts in clutches of red. He leans forward, lips searching out, but never touching, never laying upon the smooth-looking, pulsating skin. He turns to ask someone what is going on, but at that moment, silence falls like a heavy, wet blanket, and everyone’s heart seems to still. Breath, shallow. Bodies, limp under the weight of that sudden cessation, his ears droop to the sides, head bowing to a force unknown.
It unravels. In beautiful cascades of overripe fruit and perishing vines; a splay of irised pearled scattered like blood drops across the bridge. He takes a half step back, watching the pearls as they pool around his hooves and then run off down the arch of the bridge and drip-drip away…
What is revealed—what is woven and unwoven with threads of the oddest worlds—hitches his breath in his throat, leaves him parched and shaken to his core. It is transcendent, alluring, it draws him into its hot jaws, hooves dragging first in dirt and then in soft sands of a universe beyond his own. The air feels different, the birds that watch them swell in like pilgrims are queer things of bone and stone, of gems and of bright flashes of fire that consume and spill smoke in their wake. His gaze draws high to the vaulted blue sky and the thick canopy of wide, frilled leaves beyond; to the licking froth of the tidal waves that damped the effulgent sand to a bone-colour.
What in the world...
And not a foolish pursuit of an unknown, unknown.
His overlong hears peel forward, flicking as the sound begins now to thrum around him, closing in, squeezing him with each measured pump of its otherworldly heart drawing strange, irised blood through the air and through him, making them singular. One. The earth below and above, the sky, the far-seeing stretch of land that winds like a ribbon, ever hastening him to a passageway into a rift in the fabric of dreams. Can nothing ever just be normal? he thinks, but the thought is overcome by the furl and unfurl of his adventurous nature, like waves over rocks, they erode those figments of doubt and make them bright flames of seeking, instead.
He comes to the bridge, breathless and wanton and thrillful. His wide, red eyes draw across the bridge, through the passers-by and waiters that he joins now. He strides the peculiar arch of the bridge to a wall of ivy, woven like a wonderful tapestry of entwined leaves, illusory and dark, breathing with a hot throated exhales. It is here that the once-princeling coming to a stunned halt before the wide, gaping jaws of that queer, sealed entranceway, seeing now the myriad tiny hearts in clutches of red. He leans forward, lips searching out, but never touching, never laying upon the smooth-looking, pulsating skin. He turns to ask someone what is going on, but at that moment, silence falls like a heavy, wet blanket, and everyone’s heart seems to still. Breath, shallow. Bodies, limp under the weight of that sudden cessation, his ears droop to the sides, head bowing to a force unknown.
It unravels. In beautiful cascades of overripe fruit and perishing vines; a splay of irised pearled scattered like blood drops across the bridge. He takes a half step back, watching the pearls as they pool around his hooves and then run off down the arch of the bridge and drip-drip away…
What is revealed—what is woven and unwoven with threads of the oddest worlds—hitches his breath in his throat, leaves him parched and shaken to his core. It is transcendent, alluring, it draws him into its hot jaws, hooves dragging first in dirt and then in soft sands of a universe beyond his own. The air feels different, the birds that watch them swell in like pilgrims are queer things of bone and stone, of gems and of bright flashes of fire that consume and spill smoke in their wake. His gaze draws high to the vaulted blue sky and the thick canopy of wide, frilled leaves beyond; to the licking froth of the tidal waves that damped the effulgent sand to a bone-colour.
What in the world...
STAFF EDIT***
@Maximus has rolled a 4! He has been awarded +100 signos.
