sins only god can forgive.
The smooth, archaic eyes of idols stared down at him with stilted wrath permanently imprinted upon their faces. It was as if the day they were molded they knew he would one day walk upon their holy grounds with the dirt of his godless lands still dusting his hooves and swearing no fealty to their monarchs. He wondered what provoked these desert people to craft such elaborate effigies of their God. Did they think that divine beings who could create practically anything they desired from the nothingness in the world might actually hold intrinsic value in their carvings? Or, and more realistically he thought, were the idols just for the people themselves? Tangible instruments with which they could relay their unrequited love so that all that ceremony and worship felt more meaningful and real.
For Blyse, a God had always just been a thing on the outer edges of his life. A concept that small-minded men elevated when they wished to find a reason to parcel out their accountability or justify an immoral action. Now while that notion couldn’t entirely be discarded, the happenings of the prior weeks did convince him that divinity was something more incarnate than he had once thought. But there was still so much that stood to baffle him.
Could she see that? The mare who, in his intense absorption, he had not even noticed until she woke him with her dulcet voice. He certainly must have looked like a lost boy to her (which was not a far cry from the truth), so he swallowed his confusion and turned his attention to her. He would not have believed that she was made from this desert. Even in near- darkness, her form looked glacial when compared to the sand-washed cityscape behind her and if smoke rolled from her icy breath he would not have wondered how. But her eyes did this strange thing as they defied the darkness, reflecting the firelight in a striking display of contradiction. One eye portrayed the flames as whiskey-fed fire, the other for cold smoke. The only common thing they shared was the occupation of their focus: Blyse, who so returned his focus that he let the silence hang between them until it was deafening.
“He intrigues me…” He finally offered. “…but he is not the one I seek.” Blyse spoke with a surprising softness. The commander that normally carried his voice like a torch was wearied and begging for rest. Duty denied him. “I’m not sure he’d want to be sought, anyhow.” He added sotto voce.
And at the risk of sounding foolish, he posed to her a question of his own. "Where are the other Gods? I only see the one."
@Seraphina ///
For Blyse, a God had always just been a thing on the outer edges of his life. A concept that small-minded men elevated when they wished to find a reason to parcel out their accountability or justify an immoral action. Now while that notion couldn’t entirely be discarded, the happenings of the prior weeks did convince him that divinity was something more incarnate than he had once thought. But there was still so much that stood to baffle him.
Could she see that? The mare who, in his intense absorption, he had not even noticed until she woke him with her dulcet voice. He certainly must have looked like a lost boy to her (which was not a far cry from the truth), so he swallowed his confusion and turned his attention to her. He would not have believed that she was made from this desert. Even in near- darkness, her form looked glacial when compared to the sand-washed cityscape behind her and if smoke rolled from her icy breath he would not have wondered how. But her eyes did this strange thing as they defied the darkness, reflecting the firelight in a striking display of contradiction. One eye portrayed the flames as whiskey-fed fire, the other for cold smoke. The only common thing they shared was the occupation of their focus: Blyse, who so returned his focus that he let the silence hang between them until it was deafening.
“He intrigues me…” He finally offered. “…but he is not the one I seek.” Blyse spoke with a surprising softness. The commander that normally carried his voice like a torch was wearied and begging for rest. Duty denied him. “I’m not sure he’d want to be sought, anyhow.” He added sotto voce.
And at the risk of sounding foolish, he posed to her a question of his own. "Where are the other Gods? I only see the one."
@
