|
Saoirse’s memories assaulted him with images. Fragmented, backwards and forwards, reciting no known order and depicting minute details: The smell of the earth when he hits the ground, and the settle scent of blossoms in the airs – purple buds in the mud. The coarse, fierce force of waves against rock, and hooves kicking off the edge – the brine strong, bitter, it had stung his eyes.
Tumbling back to the depiction of Solis. A beacon of hope and faith, of retribution, reminded Saoirse of that bitter salt. The boy’s mouth twitched downward for a moment. Uncertain of the emotions fueled by the image ahead of him. He had thought himself hollowed out by the journeys made, the hours lost, the people forgotten and buried underneath his spirit. And yet they continued to grapple for his mind in these inconvenient moments. Spiriting him away into a world that no longer thrived, or towards the people he had mourned for – the people he had hoped to deliver him, as promised.
The voice is louder than it seems when it murmurs beside him. Embodied by a voice that allows the youth some reprieve from the dead. The young stallion tilts his head just so to find the unlikely fellow. Drawn to the scars that line his body, peppered far more frequently than the dapples that begin to shroud his form. “Oh?” He manages to offer the other a curious reply, casting his gaze back to Solis.
“Are you an acquaintance of Solis?” It wasn’t impossible, was it? Or had the gods abandoned their people as well? The boy was hopeful for more answers, whether they would be clues or legends. He wasn’t expecting any jest from the stallion then – didn’t recognize it – having overhead the zeal and devotion other equines expressed for their deities. Wasn’t it a crime to mock Solis in his own land?
“I saw one, once,” the boy muses. He doesn’t care if the stranger believes him or not. And offers a crooked grin against his lips. “A god I mean.”
He turns his head to face the ragged beast. Facing the consequence of his light hearted tongue, searching patiently for the stallion’s response. Perhaps he would paint himself with a delusional appearance, young hearted and naïve – crazy? Or would his words border on blasphemy? Was it wrong to offer an alternative existence of celestials? He let out a brief chuckle to hide the brief wave of anxiety that hit him, and the nervous chill setting against his skin.
| |
