KORBIN
Leave my loneliness unbroken!
- quit the bust above my door!
- quit the bust above my door!
The only real difference between Deepfrost and Flowerbirth in Halo, aside from the return of daylight after the long week of darkness, was the sun. From the gloomy, oppressive cloud cover pregnant with snowfall into glorious, high skies of the palest blue, the winds of the new year swept clean the slate and smoothed the white dunes into a new floor, just a bit thicker than last year. How long would it take before the Tundra equaled the peaks of the Fangs in height? Did the snow actually evaporate ever so slightly under the bright kiss of sun, so that the cauldron that was Halo would never quite be filled? Pray that the days never grew warm enough for that ice to melt lest the region be sunk beneath the waves, bringing an Atlantis fate upon the land.
Korbin imagined that he actually felt the sun warm his feathers where he flew, high above the tundra. It was likely only wishful thinking, yet he indulged himself in the illusion all the same. These were days of renewal, of rebirth, days to rediscover who he was and what he wanted. While memories of Weaver haunted the houses and streets of the Citadel, here Korbin could be himself. Could let go of obligations, sentiments, duties and the ingrained habits of nineteen years in the shadows of a family loved and lost. They were gone now, and he would always miss them... but his friends were right in that he would have to find a way to live anyway.
It was never easier to accept that than when he flew. Suspended on dark wings, carried by the wind and navigating the currents with practiced ease, Korbin never felt more himself than when he put on the feathers. Like this, he was free. Bold, brave, confident and daring, he had no reason not to veer off course and go where he willed. Upon spying a dot crawling slow over the white expanse below, he even felt playful enough to pursue it. A stray animal, a lonely hunter? Even the remaining cannibals of Whitebrim could not phase him.
Korbin imagined that he actually felt the sun warm his feathers where he flew, high above the tundra. It was likely only wishful thinking, yet he indulged himself in the illusion all the same. These were days of renewal, of rebirth, days to rediscover who he was and what he wanted. While memories of Weaver haunted the houses and streets of the Citadel, here Korbin could be himself. Could let go of obligations, sentiments, duties and the ingrained habits of nineteen years in the shadows of a family loved and lost. They were gone now, and he would always miss them... but his friends were right in that he would have to find a way to live anyway.
It was never easier to accept that than when he flew. Suspended on dark wings, carried by the wind and navigating the currents with practiced ease, Korbin never felt more himself than when he put on the feathers. Like this, he was free. Bold, brave, confident and daring, he had no reason not to veer off course and go where he willed. Upon spying a dot crawling slow over the white expanse below, he even felt playful enough to pursue it. A stray animal, a lonely hunter? Even the remaining cannibals of Whitebrim could not phase him.
Quoth the Raven,
"Nevermore."
"Nevermore."
