 IPOMOEA lay me down in golden dandelions ‘cause i’ve been waiting
The blue eyes upon him were so captivating, and so much different than those he was used to seeing; Ipomoea simply couldn’t look away. Her voice was melodic, and so very different from the sound of his own strained thoughts and voice. Did she, too, lament the silence of the gods? If she did, it didn’t show in her voice or across her features. A bit of envy rushed through him at the thought that perhaps the gods had revealed themselves to her, and not him; he quickly pushed the feeling back down, suffocating it in his mind. Such feelings had no place in his heart, especially towards another child of Dawn. Instead, he lowered his own crown towards the ground in a delicate arch, head dipped low upon his outstretched foreleg. His eyelashes brushed the delicate skin of his knee as he closed his eyes, just for a moment. His heart pounded hard against his chest, straining alongside his mind for something more. And then he was straightening again, brushing any remnants of dirt and traveler’s dust from his shoulders so that he might seem more presentable. “Nor have I,” he admitted, though he was sure she could have suspected so herself. His surprise was rather evident, after all. “I can’t say I’ve made the journey here often, myself. It is a rather long way,” he agreed. Did she not recognize him? Instinctively, the small wings graced upon his ankles folded themselves up tight, as though to hide themselves from her sight. No, they weren’t the most distinguishing feature of his; but who else in Dawn had wings like his? In all of Novus? Ipomoea had become used to the bird’s wings, both their blessing and their curse. But still, there were times he wished it were not so… often, he’d prefer them to be upon his back, and larger—much larger!—like the rest of the pegasi. Today—he wished they didn’t even exist. But she had not offered her own name, either, making no move to identify herself; for now, he would follow suit. There was always time for introductions later. He lifted his head when she began speaking again, although he was unsure just when he had began to study his fetlocks so intensely. The words poured from her mouth unfettered, a frown shifting rosy lips downwards. He could see the struggle on her face, evident in her eyes and the slant of her brows. Ipomoea was drawn in by her narrative without even realizing he was, leaning forward as if on the edge of his seat. As if by any moment he could spring forward and drown himself in her words, lose himself in the story she wove. He hung onto her every word, running them over and over again in his mind at the speed of light, savoring the sound they made thrumming in the air between them. And when she stopped, the pause, the silence hanging between them pulled him back into reality, reminding him that it was his turn to speak. What has gotten into me lately… “The scholars and priests say it is,” he blurted, turning from her piercing blue eyes to study a small boulder nearby. His eyes roved over the cracks and blemishes on its skin, the moss covering one side of the stone. From the intensity of his stare, it might seem that the rock was the most interesting thing in the world to him, rather than the girl who had interrupted his prayer. “They say Tempus loved the sun so much, he had children who he instructed to care for it. The sun is what blesses our world so, for no other world has so many gods to keep it in line.” He spoke of the sun like it was a living thing, with its own unruly temperament—but if it were not so, why else would it need so many gods to harness it? He took a few steps forward, touching the tip of his nose to the moss growing upon his rock. “They also say we are supposed to honor them. That’s why I bring flowers to Oriens; they’re beautiful, and beauty is honoring, is it not?” He offered a shy smile, peeking back at her from the corners of his eyes. “After all, he and his siblings give us the sun, and the sun gives us the trees and the grass and the flowers and all other things beautiful in nature. I thought that was something to be thankful for, to show them that I’m thankful for it.” Silence separated them again, but his talking had made him braver. He turned now to look back at her, meeting her azure gaze head on. She claimed that Oriens liked his offering, without any discernible sign from Oriens himself. Yet she had read the all same books about Tempus and hid children as Ipomoea had; was he missing something then, to hold such a different mindset than her? “Do you speak for Oriens? I’ve never met someone, other than a priest, who thought to understand the feelings of the gods.” And she had already admitted to not being one. In fact, she was someone who had already admitted to being raised by a people who held little care for their own deities; how was it that she could know more than he, who had been born here and instructed in the ways of worship? Yet his tone wasn’t accusing; it was wondering. Longing shone in his eyes, though if asked he wouldn’t have been able to recognize the emotion, nor explain where it came from. @messalina! ”here am I!” |
art by neverrmind
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