[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by FANTOME on October 6, 2008, 1:58 am, in reply to "putting to sleep a lion;"
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She is intangible, her needs and wants, the oblivions of her world. He aches from loneliness, and for it. And he wonders if he is destined for this, to wander and give his heart too freely, forever. He thinks of the ones of Andarin that he admires and wishes glories for, he thinks of Aian and Yehl who soothe him, and he hopes they will not hate him for this. But perhaps it is hate for him that will bring the Wolves together in the triumphs they once deserved. He wonders this, and hopes it is so.
I will never be a Wolf. he repeats, his voice losing the harshness of before as he dissolves to aching knowledge. It is not readily I give up the mountains... It is the Wolves who readily give me. There is a crackling sorrow to his words, choked tears for his wrongly accused transgressions. The Wolves flounder and forsake their own, and it is not the fault of the ghost, who did what he had to to return himself and Aian to the mountains. Now, he leaves, perhaps still not entirely of his own accord. It is difficult for the unsociable creature to find words for such a feeling.
It is their poisoned hierarchy that I leave, for true unity, for hope.
He is drawn to the river, unable to stop his footfalls as, for he belongs to it, not it to him. He does not believe he controls it as others believe they control their elements, but he is content with the helplessness. He touches it gently, his skin does not wet and angelic voices sing words in his head, urging him down the river and to beyond.
water II.mercenary.andarin
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