Posted by Xolotl on June 5, 2008, 9:10 pm, in reply to "why don't we make them better then?" The stallion’s mind blossomed, pretty colors burning their way around his quiet soul as he listened to his teacher talk and heard the beauty of her heart. He could sense the way she welcomed him, more then just a simple teacher ever would. A friend perhaps? Had he truly found someone who would accept his presence and see past the infirmity of his eyes, the scar across his knee? Had the blind horse been so… well, blind, as to not seen the beauty in the darkness? He can feel her fire burn beneath her skin as she touches him, the softness of her flesh coiling all about his magnificent form - the way her magnificent mind worked in a world of flame and ash… but flowers blossoming all the same. Xolotl breathed, the tall beast lowering his head to taste of her breath with his own quivering nostrils. A soft smile, the first in years, plays across his velveteen lips. “But I, Hypatia, wouldn’t wish this plague on my worst enemy.” Or perhaps his suffering was a willing one the more he thought about it. He could not see the ugly things in life, he could only sense the eternal beauty, the artistic grants of the world as it played out all around him. But he knows that she knows the truth behind his words, how so few could ever accept a world such as his and come to survive so long and be so well adjusted.
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Xolotl’s great neck cranes over the crest of the white mare’s own as they hold each other in a welcoming embrace. Him, welcoming her to his side as a friend, as a teacher, as someone to confide in. And she finding within herself perhaps a sense of empathy as she pledges to him her promise. She is so very much unlike Mab, there’s nothing to gain in her oath. “A story indeed I shall tell you Hypatia… A story indeed.” He blinks then, almost as if the light has been allowed to pass behind the strange lenses of his unfathomable never focusing eyes - and perhaps a light has been able to touch his damaged retinas… A light that has touched his soul fire kissed and burning without shame. The deep golden steed draws a breath as they stand together as familiars and then he speaks;
“It was a gloomy night when my soul witnessed and lay laced with the blood of a fallen beggar like myself, one torn from their home and cast astray only to be murdered with the name of their most loved one upon their lips. It was that night that I began my quest to forget and yet learned and remembered all the more and it was indeed then that I swore and promised myself that I would not allow the light to be suffocated by the darkness I lived within. Innocence could not be allowed to fail like Hawthorne’s heart had… And further more I could not ever speak of such things ever again lest I knew for sure the course of history was to be changed. A short time later the storms and tides converged to leave the stench of change upon the wind and I, who had been betrayed and beaten before by one who’s now set out to drown the likes of Hawthorne’s greatest memories, gave away my freedom to a creature I could not control nor even begin to defend myself against. I traded my freedom, but now my soul, and I traded it in for the pelt of a Wolf and cast myself once more into a society that has no want or need for a beggar like myself. I’m alone. Cast aside while the people buzz about like bees and never once do they stop to ask the things I’ve heard and through hearing them, have seen. I traded my life on a threat to give someone else to chance to gain wings to fly, dragon wings impure and sullied like the heart of my captor… But I ask myself now if maybe in doing so I’ve been given the chance to soar. I paint you not a picture of Kings, though I know of one that will come to fall - two really in all eventuality, but I know of one who will come tumbling down in a nation where a certain Queen must rise to lead a nation to victory. I sing of a story that cannot be accompanied by a lyre - it is my strange inner sight that gives me such ambition and drive to see what cannot be seen by others. But that Queen is being stifled by those who would see her country drown in it’s own puddle of despair. The one who forced my hand, who blinded me, who maimed me… That creature stalks behind that Queen’s enemy lines like a dark wraith who calls the shots and climbs the ladder through her underhanded motions. And with the heart of a Rogue cannot pledge my alliance though to any other but the heroine of the story and follow through true to myself regardless of how surely I will find my own blood spilt once more. They say I am defenseless; but in time silence I have sentenced myself to I have learned to think, to feel, to understand what is necessary… And I know now the philosophy of the living and the dead… I do not fear the dark any longer, nor do I fear what’s in the dark for to do so I would have to fear myself… But I do fear the future should the Queen I speak of become suffocated and kept from her people a moment longer.”
For a moment the stallion was silent as he drew his thoughts and nearly convulsed into a recession back into the silence he was most noted for, but then her warmth basked over him; the quiet of her manner, the beauty in which she listened… He spoke again as his lips tussled stray strands of her mane as the basked in the cooling breezes.
“There is no once upon a time, Hypatia, that is why I cannot and would not say it. This story isn’t one written in books by rabbits or sung by the birds… Not yet at least. This is a story that continues on a day to day basis while the Queen cannot see it within herself the strength or perhaps the want to lead a dwindling nation though even I can see her ability to do so. This is not a story where some great prince will come to whisk her off to teach her to need herself enough, for it’s only a beggar, a pauper who understands her need of her people though now she cries in true melancholy knowing she cannot be with them. Still, as a captive, the Queen acts as a Queen and refuses to give up hope that someday her nation will be great. The ultimate sacrifice is for one to blatantly put themselves within harms way and this Queen most certainly has. And as I talk I speak in treason for I have been forced to become a Wolf while the Queen is a Bird and I wish her only the chance to fly and touch the stars because I know, through listening, that she will be spectacular. And I cannot speak of an end to this tale, for no end has come and no end will come for years and years with any luck and if I can have say at all in the weaving of it my dear dear Hypatia, though you must know I have not a friend in the world, only acquaintances and enemies that would strike me dead for ever uttering a word of this… And I give it to you freely.”
As he fell once more into silence, Xolotl wondered if he’d chosen the wrong tale. If perhaps he should have chosen one made up out of some fictitious allotment of characters not about the present or the past… The future mostly. For the first time in awhile fear crept up into the stallions heart with hands of ice poising to take over and squeeze the life from his steadily beating heart as he awaited her response. As a seer she would know what it was he spoke of, the truth behind his expose. His sightless eyes closed beneath wrinkled and weathered lids tipped with golden lashes as he awaited her words, her guidance, her understanding.
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