He had not gotten far after fleeing the borderlands of the foreign pack; he ran as fast as he could but his whole body was at a point of weariness that he was quaking, even as he collapsed the final time amid a flurry of orange and red leaves. He was asleep within moments - a sleep lasting whole days - and Mesa woke slowly, groggily, to the screeing of a hungry raven tugging at his coat. He could recall that moment clearly now, although it had been more than a couple of weeks since he had found the valley.
There were ruins here too. The shock of the shuddering earth had not passed humbly by this place; the valley floor was lined with fallen trees that were otherwise fully intact, their roots exposed and standing tall instead. These many monuments were awful reminders of the ruin perpetuated across the Wilds; but he adapted, mapping what he could of the woods and climbing over these obstacles. In the length of time between finding the valley and today, nearly a month after the graphic death of Kazmir, Mesa had not stopped thinking of home.
Takiyok. Stag. Monarch - Ego, wherever he was. Mahler. The memories of their presence kept him company on futile hunts, or lived frequently in his imagination, keeping his mind sharp and his heart free of lonliness. The nights were the worst. When he could finally nest somewhere within the valley and stare skyward; watching the stars, murmuring to them as if they were the eyes of his lost family, Mesa would fall asleep and dream of the mountain.
He knew that one day, he would need to leave this place. The small game he could find in the daylight was barely enough for him. He needed to find his mother, his General, and return to a life among his people - yet he could not find the confidence to leave the valley yet. He knew each path by now, each hiding place, where to drink and the habits of the prey - his confidence had grown within himself for his tenacity, proud of his survival.
Each night remained the same: those stars fixed in their positions, watching, waiting, while he made promises left unfulfilled.
There were ruins here too. The shock of the shuddering earth had not passed humbly by this place; the valley floor was lined with fallen trees that were otherwise fully intact, their roots exposed and standing tall instead. These many monuments were awful reminders of the ruin perpetuated across the Wilds; but he adapted, mapping what he could of the woods and climbing over these obstacles. In the length of time between finding the valley and today, nearly a month after the graphic death of Kazmir, Mesa had not stopped thinking of home.
Takiyok. Stag. Monarch - Ego, wherever he was. Mahler. The memories of their presence kept him company on futile hunts, or lived frequently in his imagination, keeping his mind sharp and his heart free of lonliness. The nights were the worst. When he could finally nest somewhere within the valley and stare skyward; watching the stars, murmuring to them as if they were the eyes of his lost family, Mesa would fall asleep and dream of the mountain.
He knew that one day, he would need to leave this place. The small game he could find in the daylight was barely enough for him. He needed to find his mother, his General, and return to a life among his people - yet he could not find the confidence to leave the valley yet. He knew each path by now, each hiding place, where to drink and the habits of the prey - his confidence had grown within himself for his tenacity, proud of his survival.
Each night remained the same: those stars fixed in their positions, watching, waiting, while he made promises left unfulfilled.
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Vagabonds walk this suitcase town - by Mesa - November 04, 2019, 12:55 PM