[P] something old, something new

[Galileo]

galileo kodarki

i felt the touch of the kings and the breath of the wind

Water. At last.

He almost ran into it, the lake that lay in front of him. There was an eagerness in his eyes as he cantered towards it, his muscles rippling like the wind on the sands. Fresh and clear. Stunningly cerulean, almost blindingly so when the light brushed her sweet rays over the surface. Galileo would never have known it was there, or even the direction to go in to find any source of life, if it hadn't been for the mare he had met by the shores. And now, here he was, leaving in his wake nothing but deep-buried memories and footprints on the dunes. 

The first touch of water on his lips was sweet, and he savoured it until he could enjoy it no more; he rushed forward, splashing the water as he went. This was so different to being at sea -- he felt protected, enveloped in the arms of the mountain herself. Behind him, floating like a twig on the water, his tail created capillary waves as it moved left and right. Submerged up to his stomach, he threw his head underwater whilst holding his breath, hoping to clean off his ragged mane. Blinking as he reappeared and the sun glinting off his golden eyes, he blissfully took his time bathing in the lake.

When he finally chose to get out (his thoughts and worries put to rest, for now), Galileo turned to the rocks, brown and cracked from the ebb and flow of the lake tides. Lifting a hoof out the water and placing it on a low rock, he coaxed his huge frame upwards in one motion, allowing the rest of his body to join. For a moment, he was stable, but there was a false sense of security as the world suddenly clattered into motion. The hoof that had been last to join slipped, dragging him back down into the lake. With a sharp but deep cry, he landed heavily back in the water. What was once clear blue was now mixed with the red of blood, and though he couldn't see his legs in the murky water, he could feel the pain creeping upwards.

For the second time entering this new land, he had put himself in danger, and this time he had suffered for it. Grunting as he shifted through the water towards a lower section of rock, he gently stepped out, wobbling on his injured leg. Moving towards the flatter part of the lake, he pulled himself out with effort. Standing there, helplessly bleeding on the shore, he once again cursed the lands they called Novus; the first chance he could get to leave, he would.


@Luvena @Tenebrae

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[Tenebrae]

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tenebrae

let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final

How long has he walked like a spirit just released from the blanched underworld? The colours, the sights of Denocte arrest him in ways they have not before. Even the Night Order’s bare bone walls of grey stone seem filled with a myriad hues he has never taken the time to see before. He left his room, the summons lying open upon his small desk. Upon it was written an explanation, but all that matters was the date. Three days from now.


Now he knows, now he knows to look and see and drink in the vitality of the earth, the sky, the sea… How many times has one looked and never seen? There is colour in everything, beauty in everything. Never will he see a smile again. Nevermore will he see a tear roll down a cheek. Or see how one glows when they see love bloom like a rose. 


You do no deserve to look on me, Boudika had said. He knows she is right. He holds in his mind the painting of her hurt. The beautiful ferocity of her rage. Tenebrae lets it eviscerate his heart and soul. He does not go to find her, though he wants to, he yearns to. The need is destroying him, it consumes him. Yet he will sit with an eternity of remembering how she looked at him. Such desperate hurt he had inflicted. And Elena, oh Elena. Her brightness is seared into him, her golden heart, warm and now broken. Tenebrae does not deserve to look upon either of them. He knows. He does not find them, though it kills him, though his desire is wildfire within his bones. 


Instead he roams inland, to where the lake stretches open and beautiful as a mirror.  He is lost in its beauty, its reflection when he hears a cry and a splash. Blood seeps into the water, bright as a ruby. It diffuses as smoke through the water and Tenebrae looks to its source. The sight of a man limping out of the water greets him. The monk turns, his course set. In moments he is beside the man, darkness billows of from the Night Order Disciple. It presses cool upon the wound, curious as a cat. “That is deep.” Tenebrae observes. “You will need treatment in case it gets infected. Can you walk? The mountains are close and I can get you help there, it is a bit of a climb, but worth it if you can weightbear?’