I'm heavy metal, I'm hollow wood
He didn't remember what he had been doing: it had just been something, anyway, one of many little tasks he did, endlessly. Mending fences, taking in the harvest, putting away hay for the winter, sweeping the porch, washing up, weeding, something, something, something—
But the sunlight had distracted him. As if he was a kitten and the rays a piece of string he had found himself led onto his own porch, somehow sitting down and...
Just sitting.
Eyes closed.
It was one of those days when the world clung to the warmth of summer, choosing to forget that autumn was here, a warm whisper of a time gone by; he was pleasantly warm from work still, and there was no breeze to chase the shadow's chill into his skin. It was just him and the sun, the play of bright reds and warm browns on the back of his eyelids, and the rich scent of life in his nostrils—
Had it ever been like this before? His world, his everything, his barren, dusty, cracked land had paled so in comparison to the wild and mighty Greatwood, and... And his mind spun back to the terrifying events at the top of the Spire, the chamber breaking open and the walls falling and the barrier, with its endless mirage, falling... The world beyond had glittered in the dark of the night.
And the sun had revealed to him the truth.
The Outlanders had been right.
His barren, dusty, and cracked land was barren, dusty, and cracked. It was gray and desolate and dying and for sins unknown he had been punished along with his ancestors (or perhaps they were meant to be martyrs, the necessary, selfless sacrifice for the greater good; or perhaps they had just been collateral damage) and left to slowly waste away in his bleak cell.
So had it ever smelled like this before? Had the autumn air ever been rich with the scent of decay and, somehow, a scent of warmth—warm wood, warm leaves, warm horses? The greens turned to reds and yellows so furiously bright he wondered if something hadn't happened, if life hadn't flowed into the Hollowed Grounds now that the barrier was gone...
He was free.
He was a bird let out of its cage.
And maybe he was wing-clipped only because he did not know that he had wings.
[ SCENE CHANGE MY BRAIN DID NOT WANT TO WRITE: Ella shows up and licks his hand or something and he smiles and laughs and starts ruffling her fur and playing with her ]
But the sunlight had distracted him. As if he was a kitten and the rays a piece of string he had found himself led onto his own porch, somehow sitting down and...
Just sitting.
Eyes closed.
It was one of those days when the world clung to the warmth of summer, choosing to forget that autumn was here, a warm whisper of a time gone by; he was pleasantly warm from work still, and there was no breeze to chase the shadow's chill into his skin. It was just him and the sun, the play of bright reds and warm browns on the back of his eyelids, and the rich scent of life in his nostrils—
Had it ever been like this before? His world, his everything, his barren, dusty, cracked land had paled so in comparison to the wild and mighty Greatwood, and... And his mind spun back to the terrifying events at the top of the Spire, the chamber breaking open and the walls falling and the barrier, with its endless mirage, falling... The world beyond had glittered in the dark of the night.
And the sun had revealed to him the truth.
The Outlanders had been right.
His barren, dusty, and cracked land was barren, dusty, and cracked. It was gray and desolate and dying and for sins unknown he had been punished along with his ancestors (or perhaps they were meant to be martyrs, the necessary, selfless sacrifice for the greater good; or perhaps they had just been collateral damage) and left to slowly waste away in his bleak cell.
So had it ever smelled like this before? Had the autumn air ever been rich with the scent of decay and, somehow, a scent of warmth—warm wood, warm leaves, warm horses? The greens turned to reds and yellows so furiously bright he wondered if something hadn't happened, if life hadn't flowed into the Hollowed Grounds now that the barrier was gone...
He was free.
He was a bird let out of its cage.
And maybe he was wing-clipped only because he did not know that he had wings.
[ SCENE CHANGE MY BRAIN DID NOT WANT TO WRITE: Ella shows up and licks his hand or something and he smiles and laughs and starts ruffling her fur and playing with her ]
just shy of greatness, ah, ah
