golden threads of my empathy - Goose - January 18, 2019
-- raven's watch: dawn --
An owl let out its last, sonorous song of nocturne, its wings softly beating overhead as it rescinded its dominion over the stars to the warm clutches of dawn. It would find shelter – a cozy knot befitting a prince, with silky plumes and velvet petals as bedding – as opposed to the vulpine-boy, who, enraptured by wanderlust, had arisen as the wintry songbirds chirped the melody of a new day. He could hardly relent to the refreshing blisses of sleep, much too tempted by his curiosity that persistently gnawed at his temple alike an irksome flea – constantly chattering, move, move, move, there’s so much more to see! He was dancing across the scantly draped landscape – snow, but a mere salting across the verdure –instantly undressed with small, fervid paws. It was not a traditional depiction of dancing; more as though his run was simply that, an elegant portrayal of footsteps placed so exuberantly that he could have been singing with his feet. The symphonic sound of water urged him along, his throat parched by the frigid winds and his unending expelling of energy. When he finally approached what seemed to be a rather tempestuous riverfront, he slowed, his burning muscles grasping at his stomach for rejuvenation, only to find an emptied, hopeless pouch of air. It irritably gurgled at him – protesting, no doubt – though he paid little mind, approaching the water with tenuous tiptoes, before bowing his head so that he may inelegantly gulp down the invigorating freshness. I guess I /should/ find some food, he pondered, idly, his gaze wandering across the ripples of the surface, as his mind began to blank and he mesmerized himself into a thoughtless calm. Completely unaware – dead to the world, he simply drank.
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