she drifted across the grassplain, out of place in the still flatness. in the manner of pale storm-cloud ripped asunder and set loose in the world did she roam, drifting, carefully, etherreal in every manner of the word. starlight glimmered a thousand times over in night's thick mantle, thrown over the world with great care each evening and pulled back carefully with the coming of every day.
there is an old wolf that resides over the heavens, and it is his task to robe the world in atramentous, star-riddled night each evening, and to pull it away come morning. in his role he is proud, and steadfast, and never has he faltered. each night he brings beauty, a time to hunt and to tell tales, to take part in the old ways and to live.
pausing atop spindly limbs did the starchaser finally cede that night's wandering, for already did the horizon wane with the coming of dawn. amaranthine glinted from her finely cut face; it was not genetics that carved out the angles of her form so; rather sickness and hunger had etched themselves into her frame long before she had murmured her first tale. she settled then on some barren earth, content only to watch and listen to the cosmic chords of the night, the gentle inhale, exhale of the universe so soft and subtle.
spindly outlines clawed at the heavens, clustered here and there as if the plain had revolted against itself, sending envoys in the form of conifers to grasp desperately at the glittering expanse of the sky. they were out of place in the wide-open, it's uniformity. but her gaze did not linger on the trees, rather, they searched the sky as they always did, began a silent ritual of naming and of pulling together. there was orion, and as her gaze slid from star to star, and as she always did, she began to wonder
there is an old wolf that resides over the heavens, and it is his task to robe the world in atramentous, star-riddled night each evening, and to pull it away come morning. in his role he is proud, and steadfast, and never has he faltered. each night he brings beauty, a time to hunt and to tell tales, to take part in the old ways and to live.
pausing atop spindly limbs did the starchaser finally cede that night's wandering, for already did the horizon wane with the coming of dawn. amaranthine glinted from her finely cut face; it was not genetics that carved out the angles of her form so; rather sickness and hunger had etched themselves into her frame long before she had murmured her first tale. she settled then on some barren earth, content only to watch and listen to the cosmic chords of the night, the gentle inhale, exhale of the universe so soft and subtle.
spindly outlines clawed at the heavens, clustered here and there as if the plain had revolted against itself, sending envoys in the form of conifers to grasp desperately at the glittering expanse of the sky. they were out of place in the wide-open, it's uniformity. but her gaze did not linger on the trees, rather, they searched the sky as they always did, began a silent ritual of naming and of pulling together. there was orion, and as her gaze slid from star to star, and as she always did, she began to wonder
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Messages In This Thread
and in the trembling blue-green of the sky - by Eridanus - June 10, 2018, 08:41 AM
RE: and in the trembling blue-green of the sky - by Eris - June 10, 2018, 05:33 PM
RE: and in the trembling blue-green of the sky - by Eridanus - June 10, 2018, 06:09 PM
RE: and in the trembling blue-green of the sky - by Eridanus - June 10, 2018, 07:06 PM
RE: and in the trembling blue-green of the sky - by Eris - June 10, 2018, 06:17 PM