Afternoon light fluttered down through the trees and littered the forest floor in a dappling of gilded color. The foliage had shifted from pine and emerald to the color of titian and bisque, casting an uncanny glow to the woodland territory. Various fowl fluttered about overhead. Some, in preparation of winter and others in search of the calidity that had long since vanished with the change in season. The Starchaser longed with them, and he turned to cast his gaze upward at the stretch of looming sky that threatened to shower them in blanched flecks of snow. Already, the wind had shifted and brought a wintry bond at its side. In the far reaches of his instinctual mind, the nimbus knew that they would see the beginning of it before the sky was filled with stars. The days of summer sun and endless fever had found a close.
The last time he had been there, it had been during the great peak – when spring faded to summer.
Orion had not thought that he would have returned to a land that did not know the Mal'um name – that did not know the dangers that lurked behind the glint of their teeth or the sharpness of their sights. The Starchaser had thought it a foolish world to never have been exposed to such umbrage. When he had traveled away from the unworldly wilds, the great nimbus had thought himself an intellect.
But, he had been mistaken. The Starchaser had been mistaken many times before.
Prowling beneath the cover of ignited umbrage, the stygian dodger did what he could not to revoke the thoughts of where he had come from and what he had withstood to flee. The weatherworn fellow knew that it was just as good as any other admonition of his past. It would have been ungrateful of him to think that he had made an error in his actions – that the brutal hand of the Mal'um was worth remaining for if it meant that he had not left his family behind. All his life as a beast of the earth, he had been their thrall. That time had ended when he had ripped the throat from the great King himself. Not even the fires in heaven could take back the action that had spun the Starchaser's world into turmoil and had bathed the Ursa in blood.
A dark-winged reaper fluttered overhead and glided to land on a low branch. Orion peered at it tiredly, waiting for when it would take flight again. Freedom had found him, but he often thought that he still wore the shackles of his former home. The nimbus knew the crows to be favored scouts by all of the Mal'um bloodrunners. The Starchaser mustn't be caught by them there, or the wolves of the wilds would surely know the terror that he had fought so desperately to escape.
Visions seemed to tear at the corners of his eyes, peeling back the edges. There was something just beneath; another place turned back like a hazy reflection. It was familiar and strange. It seemed to come and go, hitching his breath, leaving him gazing toward the distant mountain range that he had never known before – that had never been there before the Starchaser had walked on the rough earth. A far-off storm called him to fields draped in dusk, and black clouds heaped tall on the horizon filled him with terrible longing for something he felt but could never know – a fearful devotion to a place without shape, and a love that burned with no name. So much had been abandoned, and yet he felt as though he could not truly allow it to go from him. There was an aching in the marrow of his bones that filled him with dread.
The crow took flight again, releasing a depraved caw as it passed above the boughs of trees.
The fur along his neck rose out of instinctual fear. Try as he might, the Starchaser could not swallow it down again. He waited, gaunt features turned toward the skies in an effort to watch the dark reaper flee without seeing him below. Only when he was certain that it was gone did he move on.
The further he trekked, the more he felt it. It was as though, deep in the woods, a sheet hung suspended above a dry riverbed – a cloth that moved like translucent flesh over the stones and bent the light away. A voice called to him from the other side, and a dozen thin hands reached out for him behind the veil. They sought to cradle him. They begged to run their crooked little fingers through the thick tufts of his jagged fur. His heart shifted beneath his skin – a sleeping thing turning over, restless in its final dream. Their voices grew louder, their hands reached further, warped and guttural with grief. The temptation to lean against them was riveting. Their promises of comfort and safety were warm against the chilling winter wind. They sought to lure him away from the freedom he had earned –
To bring him home again.
The last time he had been there, it had been during the great peak – when spring faded to summer.
Orion had not thought that he would have returned to a land that did not know the Mal'um name – that did not know the dangers that lurked behind the glint of their teeth or the sharpness of their sights. The Starchaser had thought it a foolish world to never have been exposed to such umbrage. When he had traveled away from the unworldly wilds, the great nimbus had thought himself an intellect.
But, he had been mistaken. The Starchaser had been mistaken many times before.
Prowling beneath the cover of ignited umbrage, the stygian dodger did what he could not to revoke the thoughts of where he had come from and what he had withstood to flee. The weatherworn fellow knew that it was just as good as any other admonition of his past. It would have been ungrateful of him to think that he had made an error in his actions – that the brutal hand of the Mal'um was worth remaining for if it meant that he had not left his family behind. All his life as a beast of the earth, he had been their thrall. That time had ended when he had ripped the throat from the great King himself. Not even the fires in heaven could take back the action that had spun the Starchaser's world into turmoil and had bathed the Ursa in blood.
A dark-winged reaper fluttered overhead and glided to land on a low branch. Orion peered at it tiredly, waiting for when it would take flight again. Freedom had found him, but he often thought that he still wore the shackles of his former home. The nimbus knew the crows to be favored scouts by all of the Mal'um bloodrunners. The Starchaser mustn't be caught by them there, or the wolves of the wilds would surely know the terror that he had fought so desperately to escape.
Visions seemed to tear at the corners of his eyes, peeling back the edges. There was something just beneath; another place turned back like a hazy reflection. It was familiar and strange. It seemed to come and go, hitching his breath, leaving him gazing toward the distant mountain range that he had never known before – that had never been there before the Starchaser had walked on the rough earth. A far-off storm called him to fields draped in dusk, and black clouds heaped tall on the horizon filled him with terrible longing for something he felt but could never know – a fearful devotion to a place without shape, and a love that burned with no name. So much had been abandoned, and yet he felt as though he could not truly allow it to go from him. There was an aching in the marrow of his bones that filled him with dread.
The crow took flight again, releasing a depraved caw as it passed above the boughs of trees.
The fur along his neck rose out of instinctual fear. Try as he might, the Starchaser could not swallow it down again. He waited, gaunt features turned toward the skies in an effort to watch the dark reaper flee without seeing him below. Only when he was certain that it was gone did he move on.
The further he trekked, the more he felt it. It was as though, deep in the woods, a sheet hung suspended above a dry riverbed – a cloth that moved like translucent flesh over the stones and bent the light away. A voice called to him from the other side, and a dozen thin hands reached out for him behind the veil. They sought to cradle him. They begged to run their crooked little fingers through the thick tufts of his jagged fur. His heart shifted beneath his skin – a sleeping thing turning over, restless in its final dream. Their voices grew louder, their hands reached further, warped and guttural with grief. The temptation to lean against them was riveting. Their promises of comfort and safety were warm against the chilling winter wind. They sought to lure him away from the freedom he had earned –
To bring him home again.
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Messages In This Thread
when the day becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light - by Orion - November 06, 2018, 01:39 PM
RE: when the day becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light - by Phox - November 06, 2018, 02:14 PM
RE: when the day becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light - by Orion - November 06, 2018, 06:16 PM
RE: when the day becomes unbearable, seek refuge in the absence of light - by Phox - November 07, 2018, 10:42 AM