The Pinnacle
07-20-2018, 12:30 PM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
He had enough experience by then to know that, if left to his own devices, he'd do little else but stare at the painfully familiar walls of the Heimasborg and slowly waste away. He was thin enough as it was, anyway; matted, thick fur clung to an angular and narrow frame. Perhaps once in his life he had been majestic, but now he was not, with his hollow back, sunken sides, and thin neck.
He looked like he had starved all winter, and perhaps he had. It was difficult to know with one who couldn't die.
Diego, on the other hand, looked grand. The owl's feathers shone, his eyes bright, his belly round and full with mice and other rodents he hunted down in the mountain fortress. There wasn't much else for the owl to do except sleep and eat, so he did both, in large quantities.
They missed Irma.
The owl rode on Mauja's withers, his talons pricking skin already black with scars.
His weight was different from Irma's. His grip was different. His soul was different.
And yet, some days, they did not think of her at all, just as some days, they didn't think about Psyche, his brother, Snö, Tamlin, d'Artagnan, Aviya, Kahlua, Glacia, Ophelia, Elding, Tembovu, and all the others they had lost.
Forgetting her, a piece of his soul, had seemed outlandish as he had frantically scoured the Rift for signs of her, but here they were. Life without Irma had begun to seem.. normal, however "normal" staring at walls day in and day out was.
The drab, thin stallion stepped hesitantly onto the rolling sands and flat, hard earths of the East. He was not one of them, those clustered by the base of the spiraling, lone mountain. Some of them had been of his homeland (homelands? he had two), but none of them mattered.
No one mattered.
Saying nothing, the rugged ghost hung back, staring at the others with dead eyes.
He looked like he had starved all winter, and perhaps he had. It was difficult to know with one who couldn't die.
Diego, on the other hand, looked grand. The owl's feathers shone, his eyes bright, his belly round and full with mice and other rodents he hunted down in the mountain fortress. There wasn't much else for the owl to do except sleep and eat, so he did both, in large quantities.
They missed Irma.
The owl rode on Mauja's withers, his talons pricking skin already black with scars.
His weight was different from Irma's. His grip was different. His soul was different.
And yet, some days, they did not think of her at all, just as some days, they didn't think about Psyche, his brother, Snö, Tamlin, d'Artagnan, Aviya, Kahlua, Glacia, Ophelia, Elding, Tembovu, and all the others they had lost.
Forgetting her, a piece of his soul, had seemed outlandish as he had frantically scoured the Rift for signs of her, but here they were. Life without Irma had begun to seem.. normal, however "normal" staring at walls day in and day out was.
The drab, thin stallion stepped hesitantly onto the rolling sands and flat, hard earths of the East. He was not one of them, those clustered by the base of the spiraling, lone mountain. Some of them had been of his homeland (homelands? he had two), but none of them mattered.
No one mattered.
Saying nothing, the rugged ghost hung back, staring at the others with dead eyes.
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
Something from his Aspirations, please! Mauja
And yes to a mutation. <3
