CROWNS HAVE THEIR COMPASS-LENGTH OF DAYS THEIR DATE-
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
The answer he received sounded prepared, practiced, funneled along a thousand other ears and eyes. A semblance of bitterness curled through his jaw, but that wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t this stranger’s fault that he was utterly lost, flying until he could no longer stay aloft, desperate to maintain some sense of fortitude and might. It wasn’t the mare’s fault that he’d been bound to searching for ghosts, instead of those who remained, existed, on this mortal plain, and not the one thereafter.
So the boy strived to listen, to understand, for it to sink and simmer in his mind – Novus, Solterra, Day Courts, kingdoms of sun. The only thing that made sense was the latter statement – because he’d been born in a similar sovereignty, where the sky stretched overhead and the reddened, desert floor was a merciless haven for those strong enough to withstand it. It was in his blood, in his veins, the towering flames, the molten earth, the way dragons called, the way soil shifted and sifted beneath his feet. “I had a home very similar,” he finally offered, his gaze drifting back over sands, over winter ethers, over an oasis that was not his own. “But it is gone now.” And so were the inhabitants, the families, the comrades, the bloodlines. Until he, or very few others remained – tied and tethered to memories no one else could share or comprehend.
Alone and adrift, no matter where he landed.
He considered her offer quietly, mulling it over in his head. He was half-inclined to stay perfectly still here, and wait for the opportunity to fly off again, to try and strive and find something beyond the pale.
But gods, he was tired.
Of many things – moments tasting like failure, scattered stars that showed no route, no path, no way, endless suns that all looked the same.
He rose then, legs fumbling and quivering but committed to the task, a slow and steady breath unfurling from his lungs. “Sure,” he exhaled, wondering if it was a mistake. If this was all a blunder, and he was making one more error in a series of flawed circumstances.
@tag | speaks
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
The answer he received sounded prepared, practiced, funneled along a thousand other ears and eyes. A semblance of bitterness curled through his jaw, but that wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t this stranger’s fault that he was utterly lost, flying until he could no longer stay aloft, desperate to maintain some sense of fortitude and might. It wasn’t the mare’s fault that he’d been bound to searching for ghosts, instead of those who remained, existed, on this mortal plain, and not the one thereafter. So the boy strived to listen, to understand, for it to sink and simmer in his mind – Novus, Solterra, Day Courts, kingdoms of sun. The only thing that made sense was the latter statement – because he’d been born in a similar sovereignty, where the sky stretched overhead and the reddened, desert floor was a merciless haven for those strong enough to withstand it. It was in his blood, in his veins, the towering flames, the molten earth, the way dragons called, the way soil shifted and sifted beneath his feet. “I had a home very similar,” he finally offered, his gaze drifting back over sands, over winter ethers, over an oasis that was not his own. “But it is gone now.” And so were the inhabitants, the families, the comrades, the bloodlines. Until he, or very few others remained – tied and tethered to memories no one else could share or comprehend.
Alone and adrift, no matter where he landed.
He considered her offer quietly, mulling it over in his head. He was half-inclined to stay perfectly still here, and wait for the opportunity to fly off again, to try and strive and find something beyond the pale.
But gods, he was tired.
Of many things – moments tasting like failure, scattered stars that showed no route, no path, no way, endless suns that all looked the same.
He rose then, legs fumbling and quivering but committed to the task, a slow and steady breath unfurling from his lungs. “Sure,” he exhaled, wondering if it was a mistake. If this was all a blunder, and he was making one more error in a series of flawed circumstances.
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.
