ISORATH
For some inexplicable reason, he's drawn back to Amare Creek again. Once before, he'd walked silent and serene among the ancient boughs, a pale vision among the rich emerald greens and earthy browns. Here where he met the intriguing man of Day, who reminded him much of the Trade Cities of his homeland, smelling of heat and sand, perfume and glittering gold. A vision, a mirage made to tempt the easily tempted.
There's a sense of quiet intimacy here, underneath the canopy and the embrace of low hanging branches, perfect for the lovers and loners alike.
Quiet is something his discord addled soul needed.
He's not here to reminisce about the man with golden eyes and hair as enviable as his own. In fact, his thoughts waltz a lovers waltz through the halls of his mind — before it burned into a tango into the shadows, embers licking across his skin as the figures faded into the night. The floor beneath his metaphorical hooves shattered as ice and fire rose up to seize his chest. Such is the power of his warring mind that it nearly seized the breath from his lungs.
Yet here, he can whisper to the trees and they will sigh a song on the wind. They will not judge him, their sentinel presence will not bow and turn away at his confessions. They will listen just as they always have, to the lone souls and those who have entangled in one another and promised to never be apart. They will also listen to him as he distracts himself, humming out his thoughts and feelings on the current and precarious precipice that has become Court life.
Tulle cloak is pulled further around his slender scaled frame, as another whisper of winter wind threatened to rake his sensitive flesh. His halo, an ornate and gilded thing, catches in the frosty sunlight, the gems scattering it's light over their many beautiful facets. He's not sure how long he'd walked among the steadily barren trees still clinging to a few precious leaves, but soon the ground parted for the stream and the babbling water stilled his hoof before the cloven tips could brush the surface.
Isorath doesn't have much time to ponder his reflection, or dwell on his thoughts because there is something in the corner of his eye that commanded his attention almost immediately. The stallion is almost as pale as him, curled up on the ground around something he can't quite discern. Briefly, a part of him wanted to turn away and slip back into the clutches of the forest he'd emerged from. But to go back that way would mean him being alone with his not so pleasant thoughts and his duties. So, he swallowed his own acid and tilted his antlered head toward the still body.
"Waiting for someone?"
TAG: @Eros
NOTES: Sorry if this is terrible.
For some inexplicable reason, he's drawn back to Amare Creek again. Once before, he'd walked silent and serene among the ancient boughs, a pale vision among the rich emerald greens and earthy browns. Here where he met the intriguing man of Day, who reminded him much of the Trade Cities of his homeland, smelling of heat and sand, perfume and glittering gold. A vision, a mirage made to tempt the easily tempted.
There's a sense of quiet intimacy here, underneath the canopy and the embrace of low hanging branches, perfect for the lovers and loners alike.
Quiet is something his discord addled soul needed.
He's not here to reminisce about the man with golden eyes and hair as enviable as his own. In fact, his thoughts waltz a lovers waltz through the halls of his mind — before it burned into a tango into the shadows, embers licking across his skin as the figures faded into the night. The floor beneath his metaphorical hooves shattered as ice and fire rose up to seize his chest. Such is the power of his warring mind that it nearly seized the breath from his lungs.
Yet here, he can whisper to the trees and they will sigh a song on the wind. They will not judge him, their sentinel presence will not bow and turn away at his confessions. They will listen just as they always have, to the lone souls and those who have entangled in one another and promised to never be apart. They will also listen to him as he distracts himself, humming out his thoughts and feelings on the current and precarious precipice that has become Court life.
Tulle cloak is pulled further around his slender scaled frame, as another whisper of winter wind threatened to rake his sensitive flesh. His halo, an ornate and gilded thing, catches in the frosty sunlight, the gems scattering it's light over their many beautiful facets. He's not sure how long he'd walked among the steadily barren trees still clinging to a few precious leaves, but soon the ground parted for the stream and the babbling water stilled his hoof before the cloven tips could brush the surface.
Isorath doesn't have much time to ponder his reflection, or dwell on his thoughts because there is something in the corner of his eye that commanded his attention almost immediately. The stallion is almost as pale as him, curled up on the ground around something he can't quite discern. Briefly, a part of him wanted to turn away and slip back into the clutches of the forest he'd emerged from. But to go back that way would mean him being alone with his not so pleasant thoughts and his duties. So, he swallowed his own acid and tilted his antlered head toward the still body.
"Waiting for someone?"
TAG: @Eros
NOTES: Sorry if this is terrible.
