by whose dear light the nightingale does sit so late,
And studying all the summer night her matchless songs does meditate;
And studying all the summer night her matchless songs does meditate;
When last (first) they met, she had been a wide-eyed, star-brained bird lost on the breeze, with wings mis-shapen from her silver-barred cage. She had trembled, knock-kneed, in the sand, and sweated under heavy jungle canopies, as astray as the rest of them, all tossed up and churned on a mysterious island of changing time under the brutal flame of an unsleeping day. She was new to Novus just as she was new to the world, just barely back on her feet from nearly dying in the Mors when she was swept up in a god-made cyclone and swept off to distant lands.
When first (last) they met, he had been a whirling stranger, a shadow in the trees. An acid-green flash in the dark, sharp teeth and a deep voice and terrifying and confusing in the way that new neighbors with shadowy, upstairs rooms were: mysterious and spellbinding, with an endless, unknown story stretching out behind them. He’d winked and smiled and growled, and Kas had couched her rear and skittered away, clueless and afraid.
But he was hard to forget and she was not one to do so. She watched him float here and there like some horribly bright butterfly, poison peridot on the wind, flashing teeth and daggers of lime as his hair moved in the crisp autumn wind.
Around them, the plains, long since passed their zenith, began to fade from amber to the different coffee-hues of whipgrass and bunches of bluestem in their death throws. With their seeds long spread to the winds, soon the tender stalks would wither and bow their heads in deference to winter’s icy chill.
Kassandra’s star-painted form parted the umber sea like a celestial herald. She stood over him, now, taller and broader and more confident, her white hair cloud-like tendrils in the cooling wind.
“Hello, Coyote,” she said, a calm smile etched upon her serene face, silver eyes bunched up at the corner. Tired, shadowed, older.
"Speech." @Huehuecoyotl | surprise!
When first (last) they met, he had been a whirling stranger, a shadow in the trees. An acid-green flash in the dark, sharp teeth and a deep voice and terrifying and confusing in the way that new neighbors with shadowy, upstairs rooms were: mysterious and spellbinding, with an endless, unknown story stretching out behind them. He’d winked and smiled and growled, and Kas had couched her rear and skittered away, clueless and afraid.
But he was hard to forget and she was not one to do so. She watched him float here and there like some horribly bright butterfly, poison peridot on the wind, flashing teeth and daggers of lime as his hair moved in the crisp autumn wind.
Around them, the plains, long since passed their zenith, began to fade from amber to the different coffee-hues of whipgrass and bunches of bluestem in their death throws. With their seeds long spread to the winds, soon the tender stalks would wither and bow their heads in deference to winter’s icy chill.
Kassandra’s star-painted form parted the umber sea like a celestial herald. She stood over him, now, taller and broader and more confident, her white hair cloud-like tendrils in the cooling wind.
“Hello, Coyote,” she said, a calm smile etched upon her serene face, silver eyes bunched up at the corner. Tired, shadowed, older.
