YOU'VE GOT COLD, DEAD EYES-
The night air is cold, enough so that when hard breaths of air hit your lungs, that the wind comes in sharp. You can't remember when the shivering set in, probably back when you flew in off the water, watching it below, quickly replaced by a new kind of sea. Sand stretches as far as you can imagine. It fades into an almost non-existent horizon line, littered with stars.
One more thing for you to appreciate. Had the skies been vacant, shrouded by clouds, or illuminated by an excess of moonlight, you wouldn't have tried to make it this far. No, not over the water.
Determination pulls your facial muscles tight, frustration lingering as you acknowledge that eventually, you will have to give into humanity's curse. Sore wings, and hunger work to make the best of you. A strong mentality may take you far, and try as you may to believe that you are beyond the physical control of your body, everyone knows who wins in the end. Frustration blooms into a mood full of resentment, and while you're not sure why it's there, anxiety. You swallow it down dry, an effort to fend off the emptiness of your stomach.
Hunger manages to get the better of you. You are nothing more than human, a harsh reality that which you can't escape when disturbed sand comes forth to greet you at the thrashing of your wings. The sensation of stable ground is a gift. No more pushing, no more running, no longer is escape necessary when you're sure you've ran far enough to erase any sins. You should find comfort in it as the sound of running water drowns out the vacant air. You know that relief should be what overwhelms you as the frigrid water burns against your thin skin, a harsh reminder that you're alive, against the odds.
Yet, what is the point of living when there is nothing to live for? Are you doomed to barren, pointless living now that you've been stripped from the luxuries of home? Do they even know your name? It doesn't bother you much that the thought brings a smile to your face. You are whatever you choose to be now, whoever, if you so dare. Who is there left to remember your face, to be able to cast their gaze upon you in this dark, vacant oasis, and claim that they know who you are?
Relief coaxes away the strain within your shoulders as you flex and rotate your wings, listening to the faint rustle of feathers as you do so. One good, long stretch, finding yourself letting out a sigh. No more, or at least for now. No more what, stress? Running? You decide upon running, because now begins the art of transformation.
@any! / speaks / oh boy, very rusty for sure. this is my first writing post in two years, and my first ever with abbat! please expect major improvements in my next reply, i just need to toss him out into the world to get things started. bring anyone and everyone to welcome us back, please <3
context: abbat is wading in the oasis after flying in for the first time, at nighttime.
context: abbat is wading in the oasis after flying in for the first time, at nighttime.
