CROWNS HAVE THEIR COMPASS-LENGTH OF DAYS THEIR DATE-
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
Perhaps she was lucky then, this stranger, for Mauna had no predilection towards judgement at the moment, caught in his own orchestrated bedlam; hastening away mirages and ghosts, and then calling them back. Incapable of rendering them into nothing but memories, he stayed contained in their orbit, in the shuffle of time and space and present, locked in the past and not understanding keys to the future. It was within moments like these, coming upon the unfamiliar, where he slowly strived to wall away the grief, the forlornness, the stark, cold, twitch of bones and tissue, so the filaments weren’t so chilled, so there was more to his life than the essence of absolutely nothing.
Mauna waited for her to leave – expected it. Many others had. It’d been the pattern in his life, to be introduced, to widen his eyes and watch them saunter into his realm as if from a dream, wonderful and brilliant, strong and beholden – and then gone, torn at the strands, seams, and edges. His mother. His father. His uncles. His siblings. His friends. Until he stood and flew alone, no matter where he ended up.
You can go, he wanted to say. You can leave, he yearned to announce. To give permission to do the inevitable, to permit the pattern to ripple and undulate before anything else occurred.
There was a sigh, and he realized he hadn’t finished his sentence. The thought was already vanquished, pierced away by reality, by tangibility, by the vestiges of dragons and wars, by stones and false paragons, by gods and deities who were suddenly not worth all the power, glory, and faith everyone had instilled within. It was too late now, to go back to where he’d begun, and so he remained very still for another instant longer, until she spoke again, and politeness urged him onward, slightly upright, rolling so he no longer sank his head into the sand, curling his forelegs before his chest.
Uncertain how to answer her inquiry, he lifted his wings – and they spread forth like eagle contortions, noble and wise and everything he wasn’t, until the plumage stretched and unfurled, yielding nothing but the residual aches for flying, for urging, for trying for far too long. The rest of his body felt the same, and so he shook his head, lowering the feathers until they could rest again along the soft soil. “I don’t think so.” Just his pride. Just his aspirations. Just everything else notched in between.
His eyes finally went to her – fully seeing the mare for the first time. The youth hadn’t been mistaken on the patchworks of silver, but he’d missed the gilded, then blue eyes and lines; the swelling in her sides, hallmarks of upcoming progeny. The apprehension curled and contorted through him again, and his jaw clenched down instinctively, as if fighting off another torment, another self-inflicted onslaught, another brutal, brooding assignation. A sigh went through him too, before his gaze pinpointed away from her, and over the world. “Where are we?”
@Seraphina
@tag | speaks
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
Perhaps she was lucky then, this stranger, for Mauna had no predilection towards judgement at the moment, caught in his own orchestrated bedlam; hastening away mirages and ghosts, and then calling them back. Incapable of rendering them into nothing but memories, he stayed contained in their orbit, in the shuffle of time and space and present, locked in the past and not understanding keys to the future. It was within moments like these, coming upon the unfamiliar, where he slowly strived to wall away the grief, the forlornness, the stark, cold, twitch of bones and tissue, so the filaments weren’t so chilled, so there was more to his life than the essence of absolutely nothing. Mauna waited for her to leave – expected it. Many others had. It’d been the pattern in his life, to be introduced, to widen his eyes and watch them saunter into his realm as if from a dream, wonderful and brilliant, strong and beholden – and then gone, torn at the strands, seams, and edges. His mother. His father. His uncles. His siblings. His friends. Until he stood and flew alone, no matter where he ended up.
You can go, he wanted to say. You can leave, he yearned to announce. To give permission to do the inevitable, to permit the pattern to ripple and undulate before anything else occurred.
There was a sigh, and he realized he hadn’t finished his sentence. The thought was already vanquished, pierced away by reality, by tangibility, by the vestiges of dragons and wars, by stones and false paragons, by gods and deities who were suddenly not worth all the power, glory, and faith everyone had instilled within. It was too late now, to go back to where he’d begun, and so he remained very still for another instant longer, until she spoke again, and politeness urged him onward, slightly upright, rolling so he no longer sank his head into the sand, curling his forelegs before his chest.
Uncertain how to answer her inquiry, he lifted his wings – and they spread forth like eagle contortions, noble and wise and everything he wasn’t, until the plumage stretched and unfurled, yielding nothing but the residual aches for flying, for urging, for trying for far too long. The rest of his body felt the same, and so he shook his head, lowering the feathers until they could rest again along the soft soil. “I don’t think so.” Just his pride. Just his aspirations. Just everything else notched in between.
His eyes finally went to her – fully seeing the mare for the first time. The youth hadn’t been mistaken on the patchworks of silver, but he’d missed the gilded, then blue eyes and lines; the swelling in her sides, hallmarks of upcoming progeny. The apprehension curled and contorted through him again, and his jaw clenched down instinctively, as if fighting off another torment, another self-inflicted onslaught, another brutal, brooding assignation. A sigh went through him too, before his gaze pinpointed away from her, and over the world. “Where are we?”
@
OF NOUGHT BUT EARTH CAN EARTH MAKE US PARTAKER,
BUT KNOWLEDGE MAKES A KING MOST LIKE HIS MAKER.
BUT KNOWLEDGE MAKES A KING MOST LIKE HIS MAKER.
