It's taken a lifetime to lose my way
All the wasted time on my hands turns to sand
The dawn broke over the haze of ivory, and he was already at the gates of the Citadel, eyes pinpointed towards the horizon. Sometimes he thought it would erupt into a cosmic stream of colors, and all of the suffering, all of the hell, all of the efforts wouldn’t have been a dream – back into the Aurora’s throngs, with the world at his feet and the mountains not so stark; familiar, loved, known. And each time he caught glimpses of the sunrise, it reminded him that the past had to stay there, caught in his heart, in his throat, in his ribs, where it could be buried, burrowed, and borrowed, and he would bow his head upon the grain of wind, swallow everything down, down, down. It would sink, rebel, and chase down the ramparts of his monolithic figure, and then the towering Colossus would move, before melancholy took him once more.
Another journey into the tundra, not to hunt, but to search compelled his movements today. He hitched his bag further up his shoulder, adorned the armaments along their designated thresholds, and checked over Zuriel. Despite her habitual growing of long hair for the winter, his concern in the glacial expanse caused him to have made a thickened blanket, now draped over her hide. No complaints ensued, and so he tucked his own furs around him, and they sauntered off, steps into the midst, tracing away from the confines of the backdrop, two figures immersed into ivory.
Luxere were meant to be plentiful here; not like the Hollowed Grounds, where they ventured along Deepfrost. He had no intentions of bombarding, of massacring, of bludgeoning, but required a set of antlers; presuming they were shed at some point. If not this season, then perhaps an upcoming one, or some had already been loosened, lost, in previous years and intervals. He merely wanted the telltale glow, the reverberations of their existences, to know where to trace, where to linger, where to look. The biggest obstacle might be seeing one in general, knowing, understanding, they shied away from the dark incantations coiled through his form.
Another journey into the tundra, not to hunt, but to search compelled his movements today. He hitched his bag further up his shoulder, adorned the armaments along their designated thresholds, and checked over Zuriel. Despite her habitual growing of long hair for the winter, his concern in the glacial expanse caused him to have made a thickened blanket, now draped over her hide. No complaints ensued, and so he tucked his own furs around him, and they sauntered off, steps into the midst, tracing away from the confines of the backdrop, two figures immersed into ivory.
Luxere were meant to be plentiful here; not like the Hollowed Grounds, where they ventured along Deepfrost. He had no intentions of bombarding, of massacring, of bludgeoning, but required a set of antlers; presuming they were shed at some point. If not this season, then perhaps an upcoming one, or some had already been loosened, lost, in previous years and intervals. He merely wanted the telltale glow, the reverberations of their existences, to know where to trace, where to linger, where to look. The biggest obstacle might be seeing one in general, knowing, understanding, they shied away from the dark incantations coiled through his form.
I'm fine in the fire
I feed on the friction
