the moon lies bare, deflowered by force then abandoned
Wind whips and rages as a great storm moves through the otherwise placid territory. Even though the storm’s reach can hardly make it down into the thicker parts of the forest where Bel and Cern are hiding, it can still berate them with pine cones and branches. It scatters needles and seeds and leaves from the tops which are being battered by the eye which looms above them. He would blame it on the Gods, but he knows better than that — their ire is much worse than this, and they will move mountains when provoked, not treetops.
He wants to say so much but a peel of thunder takes his lionlike gusto and makes a kitten out of it. Cern’s horns rattle and click, a reverberation from shivering in his bones. “Not to be a real stick in the mud, we are safer under this tree.” Cern’s orange eyes are as wide and round as Halloween pumpkins in the dark, and the great oak is reduced to timber and fatwood. Underneath the dense canopies, the wind makes breezeways out of the path.
Lightning strikes so close, it licks a dead tree not too far off the path which lead him to here and paints it neon. Instinctively he drops his head as the underneath of the forest illuminates xerox white with bright light. The two of them shuffle closer underneath the dense protection of a fir tree whose trunk is so thick around and sculpted that together they can find some solace against the chilly winter wind.
Comfortably cradled within the protective embrace of a three hundred year old forest giant as put the birch bark boy to ease, now, Cern can talk.
“I am Cer—” think again, thunder growls again, the stallion wilts when lightning promptly follows, “--, Cernunnos. It is good to meet you. May I branch out and ask, where are you from Bel?” Even in a torrential storm such as this, he cannot ignore the steam rising and pooling around her (around them, really) or the cool, amphibiousness of her skin which is pressed against his dry, papery, birch-like skin. The two of them smell like cedar and salt together, the land finally meets the sea.
He wants to say so much but a peel of thunder takes his lionlike gusto and makes a kitten out of it. Cern’s horns rattle and click, a reverberation from shivering in his bones. “Not to be a real stick in the mud, we are safer under this tree.” Cern’s orange eyes are as wide and round as Halloween pumpkins in the dark, and the great oak is reduced to timber and fatwood. Underneath the dense canopies, the wind makes breezeways out of the path.
Lightning strikes so close, it licks a dead tree not too far off the path which lead him to here and paints it neon. Instinctively he drops his head as the underneath of the forest illuminates xerox white with bright light. The two of them shuffle closer underneath the dense protection of a fir tree whose trunk is so thick around and sculpted that together they can find some solace against the chilly winter wind.
Comfortably cradled within the protective embrace of a three hundred year old forest giant as put the birch bark boy to ease, now, Cern can talk.
“I am Cer—” think again, thunder growls again, the stallion wilts when lightning promptly follows, “--, Cernunnos. It is good to meet you. May I branch out and ask, where are you from Bel?” Even in a torrential storm such as this, he cannot ignore the steam rising and pooling around her (around them, really) or the cool, amphibiousness of her skin which is pressed against his dry, papery, birch-like skin. The two of them smell like cedar and salt together, the land finally meets the sea.
@Below Zero sicker than a dog, but I wanted to get my puns on. Still working on getting more in there. i am also working on different tenses/pov's
