 A I S L I N N
"TO THE STARS THAT LISTEN"
Never in her entire life had Aislinn known stillness. Since birth, she was on the move -- a traveler, at home with a tribe of inspiring gypsy women. Warrior-hearted wanderers they were -- are. She had left them, even though she was one of their pillars, the Rahilah Maiden. It wasn't uncommon for one of their own to leave and find their own way; what was an outlier, however, was she was one of their leaders. The tribe had remained a constant, strong being in itself for centuries, all because of the Three Faces. But now.. she had all but abandoned them. An overwhelming desire to discover her own path ate away at her until she walked away.
Several months had passed since she left them. A crater in her heart ached every day because of it; but she knew it was not time to go back. The stormsinger dwelled on these thoughts as she stood on the edge of the tree line. Rolling hills opened out in front of her for miles; a sea of earth and greenery under the late evening sun. She had travelled here before; many, many times, camping along the edge of the forest. Not more than a meter away from her lay a softly smoldering ash pit.. the only remnants of the tribe from the night before. She had missed them on purpose; having seen the smoke plumes from the court's castle around this time yesterday. But she did not go to them. No, the winged fae decided to hang back and simply watch, content — and although longing — with the knowledge that her mother tribe was so very near. Aislinn was not immune to the harshness of longing and nostalgia; instead, she found herself wandering to help cope with being detached from something that was a massive part of who she was. Learning the ways of Court life had been different, but not necessarily in a negative way. She was still a soldier, a protector — just as she had been in her tribe. However, she discovered that the court denizens tended to be stationary, unmoving. Something corded in her bones so strongly that the mare often found herself drifting, whether she meant to or not. Aislinn was an untamed, wild thing; a wandering soul at her very core. She found herself here, having strayed far from the castle once more. Maybe her knowledge of her tribe's whereabouts brought her here subconsciously. But she was not certain. Icy blue orbs scanned the rolling prairie, the earth awash in the warm colors of a slowly-descending sun. A soft, albeit sorrowful, smile played at her velvet lips as she stood there. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the dying scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke, simply at ease with herself as thoughts of her new life filled her. OOC: Not my best post (I'm sorry for the rambling), but anyone is welcome <3 Aislinn is looking for a distraction from her feelings atm c:
|
|
“You can never be sure of your way.” The snow’s so thick And the ice so slick. With your life you will surely pay. ------- Through this sea of swaying grasses the swan boy steps. He is so far from the lake that whispers in his ears. It will not do, his soul does sing. It will not do and it is effort just to keep his wings closed and stop his flight back to that gleaming lake. He is the dark between the stars. The black that stretches out for an eternity and as night races ever closer and the shadows begin to dance, he feels the icy cool begin to creep. Grass stems tremble in his presence, bowing before his striding limbs. Their rustling whispers of reproach tickle his ears and keep them pressed tight upon his skull. High above him, his great wings arch, jagged and wild and oh so beautiful. This boy is a hawk of the night with the grace of a swan. But it is the swan that threads aggression deep, deep into his chest - into his bones. His slow pace wanes until it ceases, and he is stood. With eyes like embers in the fading light, he gazes east. It is darker still across the sea, but the cliffs burn lilac in the light of the setting sun. To cross that sea would be so easy and once there to find the girl to whom he pledged his vow. Yet selfishly, he turns his gaze away. He was a free man now, not bound by demon magic nor loyal pledge. He would live as a free man would, for now. He is too greedy our Polunin; too savage, too hungry. A movement lures his fire eyes north. There, in the shade of the trees is but a small, firefly light. It blinks and glimmers and dances in the twilight air. It dances her and there until more begin to glow. In a chain they dance and maybe Polunin is but a bird… maybe the frost demon’s magic was too perfect for he begins to wonder what gems the forest hides. The trees, they keep their secrets. Their shadows stretching, concealing what it is that truly dances before his eyes. Within that feral heart he wishes for fireflies or dancing fire embers. Curious as to the flickering light, Polunin’s great wings unfurl. Broad and powerful they bear him up. Over trees he circles, once, twice, until the firefly glow begins to glimmer anew. Only then do his flame licked eyes descend upon a string of coins dangling from the throat of a girl. She is only the second girl his swan eyes have seen here. The first was a damnable creature of ice that set his scars to burn with wild, biting frost. Yet this one is different... This creature is a sky split with lightning, a brush of windswept clouds and roiling seas. There is no frost upon her, she is nothing but electric dreams. He lands before her, much heavier that he would in water and his lips curl with distaste. The lake begins to cry, a haunting song within his ears with bells of summer songs. Fierce fire meets electric light as his eyes settle upon hers before falling to her golden trinkets. “Gypsy.” He says gravelly soft. That human soul, lying tattered within him, aches with memories: girls with layered skirts, dark hair and wild dances. He is no longer a human boy to be enamoured by the travelling girls - exotic creatures that they were. But here he stands, before a gypsy once more. But this time they both bear the body of a horse. “Did you make a deal with a demon too?” He asks of her with a smile upon his lips and a savage arch to his long, swan neck. But that smile, oh it is an ugly thing. Even upon the elegant beauty of his face it drips with the poison of the mistakes he made. The swan knows her answer before she will even say it. No. She will say, for never would a gypsy girl be foolish enough to make a deal with a demon, as gypsies keep their own magic… @Aislinn
|
