Lone Star Mountain just a stoic statue, fit for a nobody

ezra.

the vessel's revere is broken by his mother's voice; a lighthouse guiding ezra's way back to the safety of harbor. but the sirensong call of primordial power fights viciously. something has inherently shifted within ezra: no longer a boy ... but not yet a man.

something torn between manhood and god teen(age)hood.

the vessel looks to her, golden gaze heavy and burning, seeing her but seeing elsewhere.

a slow blink and the heavy, veil cloaked spell is broken. but still ezra feels vessel in each breath, in each thrum of his heartbeat. they are irrevocably twined together, he and vessel.

her words remind him that he is hungry and the thought of birds make his mouth water. a tie to the earthly realm, a grounding. reminding him that his soul might be some otherwordly force but he is very much mortal.

he looks at the small path his mother intends for them to climb and his stomach does a small swoop. whether it is distrust in the height or of his own body to keep him from falling if he were to climb that, ezra isn't sure.

a soft pinprickle, a feeling of being watched is felt at his nape but a scan of golden gaze does not reveal their watcher. a low flare of his nostrils before his gaze turns back to his mother. trusting her. more than he trusted himself. then let us hunt.

he would follow her lead.