Despite the pressing circumstances, the unveiled events, the catastrophic ways bedlam reached and carved its place far and wide, the boy went exploring.
There was a notion, in the back of his mind, that he shouldn’t be without his father, Iskra, or some form of protection, but another contortion of his childish endeavors paid absolutely no heed to the dangers pressing along every avenue, column, or path. He didn’t think the shadows would eat him, devour him, swallow him whole and send him straight into the void. He didn’t believe the earth would vanquish him, stuff him into shadows and embers like it’d done to so many others – his sentiments and ambitions were heightened towards discovery, and not into the lowly forms of treachery.
So he bobbed and swayed to a tune, to a hum, curled around his throat, a little warble, a tiny ditty Iskra had started the other day, fluffing out his wings until the feathers shifted in the wind, eyes catching over the bits and pieces of information he could store for later. The land before him was absolutely breathtaking – not at all like the sands, soot, and dunes of the Dragon’s Throat, wide-open, spacious, unwavering, so he inhaled its wondrous scent, and didn’t think about the wicked contortions lurking below each exhale.
Instead, his thoughts wandered to the smells he’d picked up.
One was familiar, but just so, newly caught and kept, tagged with the speculation of sister (Otem – a lot like their mother, he speculated, and presumed she was smart and wise like the Mountain too, full of sagacity and musings). The other was strange and uncertain, but he shrugged, not bothered by this, since there were many he didn’t know or couldn’t place – a symptom of youth. But he had no intention of leaving it in such a way, pressing into the grounds with a heightened sense of adventure, deeper and deeper into the murk and mist, beneath the eyes of the volcano, following their smells like a hound.
When he reached them, the first thing he did was call out, a sign of contentment, a decree of warmth he’d yet to lose in the cold, unfeeling world. “Hello!” He bugled, a throng of wild exuberance, and then trailed after them until he came to Otem’s side, bright and cheery, blinking and smiling up at her as if she were a masterpiece, an oeuvre, a work of art. “Sister!” The notion made him laugh, all delight and incandescence, before swinging his attention to the older lad, who appeared quiet, a brooding sort of figure – but Mauna didn’t mind, illuminated and cast like his father before him. “I’m Mauna! Who are you?”
Finally, his attention wavered to the massive obsidian runes – wrinkling his nose and tilting his head at the strange rocks. He’d never seen ones like that before – they weren’t the massive boulders surrounding other mountains, nor the tiny pebbles or shells he played with on the beach. These were something else entirely, and he was drawn to them, another ignorant moth to the flame, almost touching the closest with his maw. “These are neat! What are they?” He looked to both of the older foals, expecting wisdom and advice, yielding to elders for comfort and guidance.
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
