Lovis
I am made of
Memories
How far he was from home. Rolling his shoulders Lovis grimaced at the thought of it. He chewed his lip and watched the prairie grasses chase after a playful wind.
Most times he was unsurpassable. A wall that stood firm in its purpose. But days did come where he was a wall that had stood firm for much too long. Some days if you came in close you would see how time had carved worry lines and tired eyes into the wall of a man.
His clenched jaw softened and his weary mind was soothed by the warbling of a songbird. Tucked away on a nest somewhere, in the swaying grasses, the bird crafted the song for its mate. A soft, hesitant, smile on his lips Lovis hummed a single note to himself whenever the song became a duet. The birds wove their voices together to create melodies that even the most gifted musicians were never quite capable of replicating for themselves.
It was a delicate song though. Woven with fragile threads. The magic the song inspired was broken too easily. Lovis flinched at the raucous laughter of a pair of crows who sat huddled together. A song cut short is the most appalling of thefts! Ears pinned he lobbed a stone at the trunk of the tree that the crows sheltered in the branches of. The birds who had sung had now fallen silent. They too sulked at having their song interrupted and muddied by the crass voices of crows. All to be heard was the muttering of the crows.
Lovis became irritable whenever he left Delumine. It left him alone to be lost within the emptiness of himself. He was not one crafted to exist as a solitary soul. He craved the touch of another. Whenever he was away from the jostling bodies of the capital he felt the ache of solitude. He could not force his skin to still feel the lingering touches of ghosts, lost to him so long ago.
Lovis cast another scornful expression to the crows, who only laughed some more, before turning and heading towards the further reaches of the prairie. He had come to collect herbs native to Denocte.
He cussed the fickleness of plants and where they chose to take root. He cussed the ones who still sat dead in his home. He had left them in the window long after they perished at his hand, he had hoped that they might have sprung back to life; that they would have saved him from having to leave Delumine. However they had not and would not.
Most times he was unsurpassable. A wall that stood firm in its purpose. But days did come where he was a wall that had stood firm for much too long. Some days if you came in close you would see how time had carved worry lines and tired eyes into the wall of a man.
His clenched jaw softened and his weary mind was soothed by the warbling of a songbird. Tucked away on a nest somewhere, in the swaying grasses, the bird crafted the song for its mate. A soft, hesitant, smile on his lips Lovis hummed a single note to himself whenever the song became a duet. The birds wove their voices together to create melodies that even the most gifted musicians were never quite capable of replicating for themselves.
It was a delicate song though. Woven with fragile threads. The magic the song inspired was broken too easily. Lovis flinched at the raucous laughter of a pair of crows who sat huddled together. A song cut short is the most appalling of thefts! Ears pinned he lobbed a stone at the trunk of the tree that the crows sheltered in the branches of. The birds who had sung had now fallen silent. They too sulked at having their song interrupted and muddied by the crass voices of crows. All to be heard was the muttering of the crows.
Lovis became irritable whenever he left Delumine. It left him alone to be lost within the emptiness of himself. He was not one crafted to exist as a solitary soul. He craved the touch of another. Whenever he was away from the jostling bodies of the capital he felt the ache of solitude. He could not force his skin to still feel the lingering touches of ghosts, lost to him so long ago.
Lovis cast another scornful expression to the crows, who only laughed some more, before turning and heading towards the further reaches of the prairie. He had come to collect herbs native to Denocte.
He cussed the fickleness of plants and where they chose to take root. He cussed the ones who still sat dead in his home. He had left them in the window long after they perished at his hand, he had hoped that they might have sprung back to life; that they would have saved him from having to leave Delumine. However they had not and would not.
