Posted by PALESTINE on March 9, 2008, 10:42 pm
169.231.5.83
PALESTINE
Her shoulders are hard and slanting, her nose is inelegantly curved in a roman manner and her head seems heavy; her neck is thick and oddly rounded, her haunches are those of a warrior--there seems to be a raw ruthlessness overshadowing the white, antarctica-eyed mare. The vast killing fields would gladly welcome her, but despite her unfortunate appearance and the crude nature of her physiology, Palestine cannot, will not wield her body like some monstrous weapon. She is quiet, contemplative and softer than her appearance suggests: she will not sacrifice herself to violence for some arcane glory.
She is a feather in hardening concrete.
Palestine is bright eager--still she is barely Mare, a fruit that has not yet found the means for its ripening (as her grandmother)--and her step is light as she comes. Here, facing the promise of knowledge and the essence of her scholarship, she forgets to hide as she has hid from her fellow wolves (make no mistake, she loves them already, and the range has proven to be a heartland that treats her kindly), she forgets to keep her uncomely face in shadow. It is as such, open, hopeful, unthinking and loose at the shoulders, that she comes unto him; while she can do nothing to change the monstrosity her body is cast into, childish, zealous Palestine grasps a flighty grain of beauty here. Then, it is gone.
“Nicodemus,” her inquiry is soft, hesitant, but brimming with ill-contained laughter (she is a seneschal of the joyous, if anything), “will you teach me?”
WOLF
SCHOLAR
EARTH III
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