pink bleeds gold / and red spills into one's heart
A keen barb of something close to regret struck his heart, and his golden eyes rolled skyward for a blink-- not in a signature of mocking, but a longing, wistful gaze; the thought of what it would be like to be happy, or simply content, with where he was in life. An unattainable goal, surely, fueled by the ghosts in his wake and the comfort of his long, lonely nights abroad. How much of his thirst for discovery was rooted in discomfit? Presently, Atlas attributed his nomadic ways to some misplaced form of repentance, his refusal to settle his chosen form of torture. A whip that scarred and soothed, it both gentled the sea of his guilt and sated his lust for peregrination.
He pretended his hesitation was deep thought on the answer to her question. The campfire smoke was heavy in the air and settled warmly into his lungs. “I have seen the great Library of Delumine, guided through it by a winged warrior of the court,” he said, unable to keep the tenderness from his voice when he thought of Mephisto. “I have also seen a great field of white moonflowers, stretching far as the eye can see, their silvery pollen like stars fallen in the night sky.”
Her summation on his feelings on the bad and better natures of their kith and kin made him smile. “Simply put, anyone is capable of anything, any level of cruelty or kindness. Better to know first and judge later. You'll make more friends that way." He winked.
Below Zero spoke of waves and Atlas saw sand, ever-shifting dunes swallowing what was presented to them: footsteps, ruins, bones. A terrain so fit for natural graves it fought against man-made ones. There was a rawness in him that came from the desert, a rawness and a burning that would never go away.
In truth, his vision of Bel’s fantastical companion was something out of a bestiary of old, most likely inaccurate and sketched from the tales of rum-drunk, land-starved sailors: deep-sea monstrosities longer than a multi-masted schooner, with horrific teeth, dead eyes, and gaping jaws; krakens with tentacles wider around than a horse and with the intelligence to match any captain; bi-pedal crab-monsters with unpierceable armor and bottomless appetites.
After she described the serpent as, simply put, a long snake, he found himself chuckling at his own foolishness-- or imagination. Or were the two forever entwined? His laughter had his sides shaking. “Goodness. Forgive me.” It was not often he amused himself so. He ducked his head, trying to get himself under control.
He pretended his hesitation was deep thought on the answer to her question. The campfire smoke was heavy in the air and settled warmly into his lungs. “I have seen the great Library of Delumine, guided through it by a winged warrior of the court,” he said, unable to keep the tenderness from his voice when he thought of Mephisto. “I have also seen a great field of white moonflowers, stretching far as the eye can see, their silvery pollen like stars fallen in the night sky.”
Her summation on his feelings on the bad and better natures of their kith and kin made him smile. “Simply put, anyone is capable of anything, any level of cruelty or kindness. Better to know first and judge later. You'll make more friends that way." He winked.
Below Zero spoke of waves and Atlas saw sand, ever-shifting dunes swallowing what was presented to them: footsteps, ruins, bones. A terrain so fit for natural graves it fought against man-made ones. There was a rawness in him that came from the desert, a rawness and a burning that would never go away.
In truth, his vision of Bel’s fantastical companion was something out of a bestiary of old, most likely inaccurate and sketched from the tales of rum-drunk, land-starved sailors: deep-sea monstrosities longer than a multi-masted schooner, with horrific teeth, dead eyes, and gaping jaws; krakens with tentacles wider around than a horse and with the intelligence to match any captain; bi-pedal crab-monsters with unpierceable armor and bottomless appetites.
After she described the serpent as, simply put, a long snake, he found himself chuckling at his own foolishness-- or imagination. Or were the two forever entwined? His laughter had his sides shaking. “Goodness. Forgive me.” It was not often he amused himself so. He ducked his head, trying to get himself under control.
