Desreal: BUT IT IS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF WORK

For now he stands beneath the stars, in the midst of the lesser worn path. His rustic gold illuminating, The patches of white hidden underneath his underbelly hidden in the tangles of weeds he stands amongst. His masculine face lined with white, and tainted with black edges. His foot falls are light and unheared as he moves forth. His earth reaches, pushing the growths down into the ground. Parting, to give him space, to give him an entrance. The weeds are silent and distant as they move.

He approaches her cautiously. His movements are cautious, like you approach a feral cat. But it is not quiet like that now is it?

His heart is crippled, but mending, as time does heal all things. He is not as bad off as he had been before, he would never allow himself to become such again. His earth caresses his heart, cradles it as it wants to heal it as it had that branch, fix it. But it cannot ever heal such a wound, he himself would eventually over come and conquer. Eventually he will be the golden stag he was meant to be. The loyal, gentle, and firm being his conscience and his heart want him to be.

Time, is the key, it has, and will always be the key.

His breathing is shallow as she speaks to him. Her voice is like a lark, as her notes hit the air, echoing within his already fuzzy ears. His slick coat growing thicker, winter was approaching. It wouldn’t be long now. “Rowan.“ he repeats as a new smile appears upon his mug. “I like that.“ Is all he can say for now. Not that personal opinions on names matter or anything.

For now there is silence as it hangs thick over the night. The shadows bend and twist within the light of the moon as clouds flow over it, darkening, then brightening. Colors seem to fade, the reds the yellows, and the greens and everything seems to just be a shade of grey within the night.

His mind probes, gears working, twisting and cranking within his mind. He does not know what to say, it is obvious. He is not speechless, his social skills have pretty much began to flush down a never ending toilet. As the wind picks up all he smells is pine and dirt, held thick with a mixture of salt.

All is quiet.

“Tell me Rowan.“ as he speaks the earth ripples to life. “what brings you here, I know it can’t be as close to even my reasoning of wandering in this early evening.“ It perhaps was something that was most uninteresting to talk about, but Micah didn’t know what else to say, as much as he wanted to say who are you. Micah was a curious thing, he was always asking questions, whether they be simple or complex.

M i C A H
OF SOLIRA. EARTH TWO. APPRENTICE.