some memories never leave your bones.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
like the salt in the sea; they become a part of you
- you carry them.
Oh Leonidas is trembling, within, within. Without he is quiet and formidable as marble. Yet inside he is the chaos of an earthquake. It is what rage and grief do, is it not? Venegance shines upon him, turning his golden antlers into tines of swords made for death and a boy’s vengeance that will take him from child to man. It tail is still, it longs to switch across the grasses, yet he remains still as a stag. It is what the wild wood has taught him, to creep like a wolf, to stand proud like a stag, to intimidate like a tiger.
He blinks his gold, gold eyes. They are almost avian, yet nothing like the primordial stare that levels with them. Prigovora (not that Leonidas knows the monster’s name) watches lazy and yet dangerous in a single stunning moment.
From the crumbling home the monster’s bonded steps. It is a casual exchange, as if children have not been parted at their hands, as if a child’s blood did not come so close to litering the forest floor. That quiet calm enrages the feral youth. He drags a restless toe through the dirt and the woodland garden suddenly grows wild and rough. It turns into jungle of large plants, left to grow, untouched by seasons. Time trips over itself in its hurry to answer the boy’s demand. Everything turns wild and strange and then dares to die.
Leonidas lets the garden wilt. Such is his rage, his ire. Slowly he turns his head to regard the man with all the arrogance of a king ready for war. His kingdom is his dispersed family this day. His subjects are gone, his sister merely a ghost, so infrequently he has seen her since her return. The boy rages for everything that is lost to him, but oh, it feels like a victory to lay it all before this man and his monster and turn them into the focus of his every drop of ire.
“Are you?” The youth says like a man, a god, a king. He smiles a mocking grin. But it is fleeting, for all he knows in this moment is anger, anger, anger and the sweet taste of vengeance that begs him to know it better.
And he will, he will dance with vengeance tonight.
@Pravda
