|
This land was just as vast and intriguing as Finnian had hoped, that first time he saw it all spread out before him from a balcony at the Citadel. He had felt removed from it then, cut off by the great stone walls like a bird grounded by a broken wing, unable to fully enjoy the warm summer winds while unable to soar freely. Now, as he found himself immersed in the landscape to the point where mud caked his legs all the way up to the belly and grass, twigs and the odd leaf had nestled into mane and tail alike, he wondered if he was doing something wrong. By rights, this very physical closeness to the land ought to have let him feel that connection he so had hoped for, some spiritual closeness that would enable him to pledge himself to the place, the court, the people with heart and soul. But something was missing. For reasons unknown to him, his heart was not in it even as he waded through waters green with algae to the chorus of buzzing flies and startled frogs, stirring up mosquitoes as he went. Though he wanted to be present in the moment, wished to savor everything he saw with all senses available, his thoughts kept wandering; in space, in time, back to everything he had forsaken and could never go back to. Frankly, it was a bit annoying. Here he was, trying his best to start over and all he did was think of the past? You're doing it wrong, Finnian, you've lost is again, both purpose and intent and, if he wasn't entirely mistaken, also the trail. Lost in thought, lost in a godforsaken marsh. What a relief it was then, to find that he wasn't the only person out and about, wandering with the wind and without purpose. Appearing no more than a dead tree at first, whitened by sun and seasons and twisted into a horse-like shape, a closer look revealed the tree to be an actual horse standing up on dryer land. It was a heartening enough sight that Finnian changed course towards it with eager strides, not giving any consideration to how he must appear where he came wading through the swamp, looking like something that had been drowned in it once, or created by it in general. "Little one" he croaked, with his hoarse, half-healed voice, raspy as death and so broken and thick with accent that it was hard to make out his attempt at an amiable tone. "Have ye lost yer way as well? Shall we find it together?" |
@Maude
