What luck it was to survive the long journey to this land. It was an additional honor to be accepted as a citizen once the time came for him to settle in. As a citizen, he felt as if he had a duty to at least explore all portions of the land. Learning, through exploration or otherwise, was the key to knowledge; the key to strategic planning. Not that he had any use for planning now. A low man on the totem pole.
Before leaving him in the Oasis, his former traveling companions left him with one thing, a map. An old, heavily etched on map, but a map. Some of the etchings Bastogne understood, while others seemed beyond the common tongue. It was a mystery he intended to solve at some point. He had only spent one night in the Oasis. Feeling refreshed and his thirst quenched, he decided he would venture off. His destination being the Court.
Maps were significant things. Pictorial references of knowledge. Secrets inked on the page. One of which happened to be the alley-ways of the city. Snaking through the city’s walls, he eyed the citizens. Starved and broken, weakness as he was brought up to understand. Yet, his former connection to the earth tempered his first thought. What ruler, no, what monster would leave a populous in such despair. No matter. This was a visit. A chance to see the sights. Not a diplomatic venture. He needn’t be pushing his nose into things now.
Reaching the main, the atmosphere changed. He breathes it in deep. Fear. Panic mattered not. A curious being, he rid himself of caution. His instinct was to identify and exterminate whatever the source of the terror. Unbeknownst to him, he was making a grave mistake.
Bodies crashing into him were not strong enough to sway the man. He would...and there...there it was. Sound of something hissing. And? Eyes full of…
He saw no longer. Dark. Was air even reaching his lungs? No. His heart beating? Perhaps not. But his mind, oh his mind! His mind was processing the events. What had happened to him? He couldn’t move. Trapped. No. Jailed. Imprisoned in his own body. Without senses, his mind could only rotate his current knowledge over and over. True madness, he understood, was born of solitude like this. With all his might he needed to prevent that. Jailed as he was he could not allow it to take him over. He was many things but a monster was not one of them It would never be one of his flaws. Never.
The outsiders, ones not tainted by the beast, would see his head high, ears forward, left limb raised as if he were prancing. There is no expression of fear on his face. No indication he would turn away. A soldier in stone.
Would others ever come? Stumble upon the ruins of a bright city plagued by some, to him, unknown ruler? Best not to think of those things. Ideals that would only lead to madness. Considering time was the fastest path to insanity. Like staring at the clock waiting for a single minute to past. Sixty seconds becomes a full hour. Time is relative. When it is still there is no hope.
Is this living? Probably not to most definitions of the word. Or perhaps, it could be. Life in stasis. The thing that bugs and small organisms do when their habitat is inhabitable. Do small organisms think? Does their mind allow them to dream? Is stasis like a coma? He pondered nature until it came full circle to memories. Do organisms recall their past? In general, he never considered his past. It was what it was and that was that. Yet, seems as if there was something there. A learning opportunity perhaps. A failed strategy that could be reworked in his dreams. Mind alight with the possibilities he pondered what his life would have been if there were no slave mares. Would the beatings be the same?
In fact, did it even matter that his mother had stepped in? Philosophically, maybe. Emotions could not be rationalized. He would never understand her motivations. Allowing oneself to lose control. Or was it that she allowed the beatings to persist? Mares. Females. Biased as he was, he considered that his worldview was tainted. There had to be others like him. Biological sex be damned.
Others like him. Others possibly in this stasis along with him. Would his body hold up? Winter soldier boy, always assumed to be the toughest around. Would he and his body withstand this? He had no control. It was odd. The sensation of nothing. His mind could fool him with a sort of phantom limb sensation. Pain near his face? It could be a hallucination. Not knowing increased his anxiety. No measurements here. No objective reality except for the ones in motion, if they existed.
Considerations, memories, and his thirst for knowledge began to drive him mad. His promise echoed through his mind, this could not and would not happen. When he awakes, if that is possible, he will have his mind intact as it was before the beast appeared. No, before he sought out the beast that froze him.
He put his mind to use. Originality was not his strong suit but he could be creative under pressure. If he controlled his dreams, his anxiety would wane. Determined now, he used some of his memories of the magic forest. The way the earth vibrated. The forest had an orchestra. It would play joyful music, sad music, comforting sounds, and he loved them all dearly. The earth was alive and vibrant. Vibrations traveled from the roots of trees to their leaves. While others believed all rustling of leaves was due to the wind, he knew better. It was the trees singing with joy. Bark would rumble the news, groan in times of struggle. Dying trees would snap apart and lose their vibrant colors. If one were only to look beneath the dying branches, one could find live renewed in the form of a sprout. Seeds disposed of by animals would blossom. For little sprouts to live, sometimes an elder tree would need to pass. The sunlight would pour through the opening in the forest, granting precious energy for the infant. Protected by his forest, as always.
@Raum @
(This was challenging and fun. Tagging ya'll for when the petrifaction wears off. I'll make a second post for that - hopefully closer to the end of the battle.)
