This forum uses cookies
This forum makes use of cookies to store your login information if you are registered, and your last visit if you are not. Cookies are small text documents stored on your computer; the cookies set by this forum can only be used on this website and pose no security risk. Cookies on this forum also track the specific topics you have read and when you last read them. Please confirm whether you accept or reject these cookies being set.

A cookie will be stored in your browser regardless of choice to prevent you being asked this question again. You will be able to change your cookie settings at any time using the link in the footer.

Hello There, Guest!

| Register
Home » Search » Roster » Whitepages » Records » Guidebook

Hidden doors to the unknown
Open Rainforest Cliffs 
Nora
#1
Delicate nostrils anxiously swell open - absorbing, suckling the arid, pungent taste of dampness, rotting vegetation and salt. Another unsettling, tropical forest rears itself up. Though notably, this land wasn't labeled 'peculiar' because of the odor, I’ve traveled to many shores (with Noah) and the fragrance of brine had become second nature: germinated like a granule of sand in the belly of an oyster.

Feathers thrum, flaring their shafts – instinctively adjusting to changes in tension and velocity. Behind me, Noah has situated himself to soldier our rear. Grey, ominous clouds loom high above us; they swell, becoming chaotic waves in a terrible ocean. Only once in the past few weeks had the sun tried for a thinning spot, drawn to weakness…the brief, filtered glow had brought tight longing for one unexpected moment and grim disappoint shortly after when it was recloaked.

In those early days I'd (naively) thought the storm was simply hung up in the south – it was a strong, stagnate tropical gall. One of those slow burning, gradual hurricanes. It wasn’t until we escaped the gnarled, spectral riddled forest and took wing that my assumption was brutally murdered. The grey bleakness went on for countless miles – as far as we could see in any direction. It tumbled across heaven, yawning into rivets and valleys which looked like rolling mountains…scorched by fire from foothill to pinnacle. Currently, these resistant feathers could shed a light drizzle – but in thicker weather (and it often was thick,) they became waterlogged, completely useless.

Below our elevated vantage, bizarrely shaped/colored foliage tapers off, surrendering ground to the stunning, navy ocean. If there was any notion festering in my head of traveling across the big water to find greener pasture – it was silenced by the deadening view of terrible cyclones and thick, smoky blackness that could only be more storms...

Irises narrow, fixed ahead -- staring beyond the jagged, overgrown mainland -- their interest is held by a secluded green patch which sat astride the chaotic weather with prim confidence. An island; a vein entirely disconnected from the heart. These wings slow their stride, easing up. Ears twist, habitually listening for the deep noise of heavier arms to gauge position with my mate. This narrow muzzle turns in his direction, their two-toned corners are puckered downward, openly torn between thoughtfulness and uncertainty. Though he'd willingly given the lead over for the time being, I was reluctant and hesitant to control our path.
Noah
#2

They’d been tethered unceremoniously to the earth many times in recent weeks, bound like common-walkers, caged with water-shackled wings—the irony disturbed the great, brawny sea-bird, riddled his valorous soul with a sour strain of contempt. Never through his many island years, or even the countless beaches, rivers and rain discovered beyond, had Noah been so hindered by the very element he loved so dearly, devoted his desires into studying; mastering and manipulating. For the moment though, the gift of respite—heavy cloud cover, black and domineering, had lifted—lightened the pessimistic, ominous pound of his heart and the eagle’s dripping chin even dimpled beneath a small smile.

Flight. It’s beloved sensation was wonderfully elevating—no pun intended.

The potential of their view, mostly, was quite hampered by the suspension of thick grey fog (or the fine veil of drizzle which dribbled from their well oiled feathers, it could also easily have been), so the mighty eagle took pleasure in the murky, muddied earth which rolled on beneath him; less marvelling at the queer colours and varied contours, more wondering what further grievances awaited their return. Thus far, this strange new world they’d been unexpectedly borne into, was making little sense and brought still less comfort to his ravaged nerves—

At least until…

“The ocean!” his voice startled to life, thoughts roused from rumination by the appearance of beloved black sea churning below.

So taken was he, that the distant sway of cyclonic extremes escaped his awareness at first. The sullen rhythm of his pulse had quickly strengthened and his resolve began to turn for the better; both heart and mind sang out to the brackish, deep blue water, relieved by the prospect of that available acquaintance. The dove did not slow though (Noah surely did), and his eyes carved a swift path to find her, shoulders focused forward with unspoken intent. The stallion’s golden ears sliced forward also, guiding his attention to the view spanning beyond her. Oh no… his iron gut sank in one repulsive action. The lithe, fine-boned creature’s determination, he felt (and knew), would be impossible to interrupt now.

To his surprise, however, those sleekly feathered arms, stroking their breathy host with gentle grace and intelligence slowed their hearty movement.

With ease—and utter relief spreading swiftly through his core—the eagle resumed lead of their journey.

It was as he overtook that he first glimpsed sight of the island, brighter than the land they’d covered up until now; even at a distance. His bold eyes returned to survey the note of curiosity (perhaps too hope and longing), glistening within Nora’s own. “…but there are cyclones!” his voice boomed warningly; he was unsure whether either word or tone would find her ears as the wind rising off the ocean bothered their pause.

image