Mauna, being fresh, new, and wholly unfettered by the touches of chaos (yet - the rest of the world seemed to say with a held breath and frowning features), didn’t expect more abrupt revelations about the world on that particular day – but lo and behold, no sooner had he arrived into a chamber of the unknown, did one more pressing, vital piece of information twist into his skull. “A brother! I have a brother too?” His eyes widened like saucers, big and round, a cardinal red infused with the tender essence of innocence and irreproachability, as he studied Vulkan much more closely. They didn’t look much alike, the mountain lad had to admit, where this growing beast seemed carved for brute force and tenacity, Mauna had been sculpted into…well, he wasn’t sure exactly – but he certainly didn’t have as many feathers as this sibling (right down to his hooves!). Vulkan had clearly been marbled into deep browns, like volcanoes, like the craggy rocks, like the pieces of peaks and summits never touched by anyone (too high, too far, too powerful), and the child was speckled with silver, with earth vibrancy, and the lightest dusting of blue, a signature component of his father and grandmother. For all their differences, however, the boy gave no care or trepidation; he merely considered himself fortunate, surrounded by family, by friends, by kin and comrades. “Wow,” he whispered, more to the wind, to the air, to the leaves, even to the runes, speculating on the wonder of the day as Otem draped her wing over his frame (protected, guarded, secure). “I have a father, mother, uncle, sister, and a brother. I’m so lucky!” The last sentence ended on another radiant smile, pointing straight to the ground, then the sky as his eyes returned to focus on the world around him, on the misunderstandings gliding about the venue.
He opened his mouth to correct his newest sibling, because he didn’t belong to this Volterra (only understood of his existence somewhat – a big, burly beast, much like Vulkan, with a white skull), but to Zekle and a long line of electric, potent souls, however Otem managed the quandary for him. So the little cherub laughed, easygoing and free, fluffing his feathers out to his sides for fun, for a release of energy, brushing them against Otem’s in a playful mannerism, briefly shaking his head at his elder brother. “I did come with my dad and uncle, but it seems that we have different ones!” That was fine by him – nothing to be ashamed about, nothing to be zealous or vicious over; they shared dams but not sires. Sometimes that was the way of the world, and sometimes it wasn’t – but it was all he’d been exposed to, and could easily shrug it off.
There was more confusion as Vulkan expressed his statement, curt, potent, no room for argument, and Mauna tilted his head to the side, pondering where he may have erred. He hadn’t meant about cleanliness, but the cleverness, the intricacy, the interesting way the rocks, the runes, and the stones had been laid out. Before he had a chance to say anything about it though, Otem asked about Iskra, which churned his expression back into more of an effervescent bliss, for the boy adored his uncle, but hadn’t come with him. “Nope!” He popped the P for emphasis, an almost mischievous grin sliding over his lips, chest puffing out, betraying ages of confident, assured lineage. “I came out all by myself.” He nodded too, as if this was the bravest thing he could’ve ever done (and likely it had been since his birth), uttering in a softer tide, in a rippling effect, over the shades and shadows of the trees. “I want mom to be proud of me.”
After, not understanding or realizing the layers (heartache? bitterness?) attached to his latest statement, he extended himself forward, out of Otem’s reach, closer to the obsidian runes and their folded, guarded, heavily veiled secrets. “But why would they be here?” His maw pointed to one, not touching, the ghost of a stroke almost encouraging him to do so, to reach out and see what it felt like, if it was cold and lifeless, or warm and tempting.
Mauna
CROWNS HAVE THEIR COMPASS-LENGTH OF DAYS THEIR DATE-
TRIUMPHS THEIR TOMB-FELICITY, HER FATE-
OF NOUGHT BUT EARTH CAN EARTH MAKE US PARTAKER,
BUT KNOWLEDGE MAKES A KING MOST LIKE HIS MAKER.
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Siren's Summit
