the emerald knolls lull on in what scarab begins to think is an endless landscape of swaying emerald green and wheat brown grasses. unchecked, they grow tall and sway freely in the soft breeze that carries with it a light drizzle; and beckons upon the drizzle's heels the desertjackal. the witchdoctor prowls thru the tall grasses, ears twitching as they flutter against each sandbeige ear, whispering lovely nothings. though he is loathe to turn back to the sound — a secular place for him — it has been too long since he has seen his family and it was obvious that though they left their plateau they were not returning to the sound.
for he believes if they were they'd have already been there.
of course, he does not know for sure that they hadn't moved on from these wilds. he follows little more than seething speculation.
soon, the mingle of scents stand strong against the earth and grasses, untouched by the lingering scent of damp earth and tang of sea: decay and salt and algae. a scent he will always associate with home. steps slow and lapis lazuli gaze studies the stretch of territory easily visible to him from the borders as he contemplates. weighs.
the suns of his life are here: their scents upon the borders prove as such. the scent of young, of sweet mothersmilk also hangs strong in the air, weaving among the familiar musks of his mothers. for now he studiously ignores this. instead, he sends up a howl for @Aningan, @Erzulie or @Rosalyn. hoping with a twist of anticipation hitching in his throat.
for he believes if they were they'd have already been there.
of course, he does not know for sure that they hadn't moved on from these wilds. he follows little more than seething speculation.
soon, the mingle of scents stand strong against the earth and grasses, untouched by the lingering scent of damp earth and tang of sea: decay and salt and algae. a scent he will always associate with home. steps slow and lapis lazuli gaze studies the stretch of territory easily visible to him from the borders as he contemplates. weighs.
the suns of his life are here: their scents upon the borders prove as such. the scent of young, of sweet mothersmilk also hangs strong in the air, weaving among the familiar musks of his mothers. for now he studiously ignores this. instead, he sends up a howl for @Aningan, @Erzulie or @Rosalyn. hoping with a twist of anticipation hitching in his throat.
“it's a quality of the gods
to see a creature with its back broken
and be unmoved —”
to see a creature with its back broken
and be unmoved —”
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Messages In This Thread
there was once a poet - by Scarab - June 27, 2020, 11:59 AM
RE: there was once a poet - by Rosalyn - June 27, 2020, 01:04 PM
RE: there was once a poet - by Scarab - June 27, 2020, 01:16 PM
RE: there was once a poet - by Erzulie - June 28, 2020, 10:22 PM
RE: there was once a poet - by Rosalyn - July 11, 2020, 01:30 AM
RE: there was once a poet - by Scarab - July 12, 2020, 03:28 PM
RE: there was once a poet - by Erzulie - July 17, 2020, 06:36 PM