It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
Discussions over magic, over things not related to death, damnation, or how ineffectual he always seemed to be were far more welcome – a change of pace over the crashing, gnarled failure of his life recently. He didn’t have any notion or sagacity for her though, the wisdom only proclaimed through experience. “I am not certain how it transpires. Some days it just seems to be there.” Like a new strand, selected and honed from the other fibers and entanglements. “Perhaps it is the more we experience and grow within the world.” Just like foreign shifts, arising in their blood. He proffered a shrug of his shoulders, the insights provided.
Morgan must’ve known better than to pick at any of his open wounds, so he nodded his head at the information, including Ascended discussions (which had been a topic everyone seemed immersed within lately). Halo had been productive though, garnering and re-establishing defenses, far more than the Grounds had. Another project for another day, when the world didn’t seem to implode beneath his feet. “Congratulations.” At least this realm had found a way to arm and guard themselves.
His eyes went to the edge of the earth where she’d pinpointed the adequate space, and the General delivered one more nod, understanding, comprehending. He rolled back the sleeves of his clothing, and on a intake of breath, began to hone in the concentration required for the wooden machines. Gilded collections of fragments built, and he began the outline, rendering it slowly, efficiently, giving more to the form, etching several snowflakes in corners, symbolizing the ownership of such an armament, the wood a paler form, and perhaps not so easily seen in glimpses of snow. When the first was complete, he stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Is this adequate?” Because then he could begin the others – or restructure the entire thing.
Morgan must’ve known better than to pick at any of his open wounds, so he nodded his head at the information, including Ascended discussions (which had been a topic everyone seemed immersed within lately). Halo had been productive though, garnering and re-establishing defenses, far more than the Grounds had. Another project for another day, when the world didn’t seem to implode beneath his feet. “Congratulations.” At least this realm had found a way to arm and guard themselves.
His eyes went to the edge of the earth where she’d pinpointed the adequate space, and the General delivered one more nod, understanding, comprehending. He rolled back the sleeves of his clothing, and on a intake of breath, began to hone in the concentration required for the wooden machines. Gilded collections of fragments built, and he began the outline, rendering it slowly, efficiently, giving more to the form, etching several snowflakes in corners, symbolizing the ownership of such an armament, the wood a paler form, and perhaps not so easily seen in glimpses of snow. When the first was complete, he stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Is this adequate?” Because then he could begin the others – or restructure the entire thing.
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
