- - -
The world spins as waters rise and bodies gather, it never ceases to spin, but for the pale goddess at the top of the shores, she seems to shrink away from crashing waves and endless ocean for but a moment. Green eyes avoid the great expanse, long, fluttering threads upon her head shiver and quake, but her feet move forward. A trail along the cliff leads downward, zig-zagging back and forth, a saw-tooth track until those without wings are upon the sands.
Although she has wings, Juniper uses the land like a crutch near the sea, clinging to rock’s edge until it scratches her dove-colored sides, until she is sure that she has reached the beaches below. Only then does the breath, pent up for far too long, the entire duration of her downward trek, come out in a great whoosh as she nearly gulps for more of the precious gas. Once the muscle within her breast stops racing, once blood cools and settles into niches and organs again, once the imminent threat of death at the hands of the great unknown passes, only then does the land-bound goddess seem to move. Vespera’s priestess is a sight in the sky, and equally fair on sand as she floats above it. Hoof prints mar pebbled surfaces, grains sullied and pushed too far down, leaving traces of those that come and go. They lead her to the single pair that enters into a cave so narrow her great, lovely grey and white wings must be tucked in tightly against sparrow-boned ribs.
Soon, the passage ends. Soon, there is a light from somewhere that illuminates the pathway. Further back it goes, into the recesses, past cells, until only one is before her.
Footsteps behind alert the priestess his presence first, and then a horned man is near enough her shoulder in these confined spaces that she can feel his body’s heat. Green eyes tilt up toward him briefly, dismissing the wingless man to read the message left for them all.
- One great eye gazes out from the ocean.
Laid to waste by that which eats but has no mouth,
Always hungry, fed by those black of heart.
Roman greensward west by south.
"Have you any idea?“ She asks innocently, dulcet tones a mixture of sweetness and curiosities, overlain with tones suggesting of something more. So few things rise from the ocean - but islands do. Oh yes, islands do. "We go to the end of these lands, to the bottom of the world. You’re recruited because I’ll need help and you’ll provide it if you’ve any interest of finding Prudence.”
@Toulouse @redandblack | "speaks" | notes: Well she just adopted him for this, onward and upward! we goin to the island at the end of dusk
rallidae | art
