Rainforest Cliffs
08-22-2017, 02:29 PM
The rain slicking down became more urgent, the wind snapping, whipping, biting; the thunder out at sea roared louder, the lightning flashing red and blue and sickly green in the heavy clouds. Each wave rolled in taller than the one before it, the foam like fangs and the snapping jaws of monsters. Each silver shadow pulled closer to them, glistening and wet, and Kisamoa narrowed his eyes at it.
They had their differences, he and the land, and he suspected they always would. Slowly, he returned his gaze to the Pistris. He found himself strangely bothered by her silence, for while silence was something he was used to—preferred, even—this was a silence tinged with sorrow and frustration.
Maybe even fear, but he thought that was his, an alien emotion snaking under his shifting skin. He wasn't afraid of his home, he wasn't afraid of his dead brethren, he wasn't afraid of any material consequence he could think of, but he found himself inexplicably afraid by what Castiella would say. What she would do. In a moment of brutal honesty, spoken as only two words, he had bared much of himself.
He had thought he was saving this place, but Helovia's Gods had thwarted him.
Perfect? His huge eyes blinked, and fell towards the rose-colored girl, golden sparks dancing across her skin. He looked within her, felt the slumbering power of the doves, and he found himself wondering—did I just disappoint her? did she consider me perfect until just now..?
Was he perfect? He was a behemoth of death and danger, coursing with power, drunk on dreams; but he couldn't fix a single thing.
No, not perfect, then. He let the concept roll around his skull.
He didn't like it.
"Your father had you picking bones?" he asked, bluntly; from a less severe creature it would've been called blurted out, but from a God of his stature, and with his mouth, it seemed too solemn. His forehead was slightly furrowed, his gaze keen; he wasn't sure what else she might refer to. "Did, uh.. did I kill him?" Slowly, he bent to draw another bone from the body, knowing that he would soon have to find another corpse. He held the bone in his mouth, rolled it around with his tongue—found a slight imperfection, and crushed it between his jaws.
"I think," he said after a moment, spitting splinters of bone to the beach, "you're no more insane than I am."
Which, frankly, could mean anything.
They had their differences, he and the land, and he suspected they always would. Slowly, he returned his gaze to the Pistris. He found himself strangely bothered by her silence, for while silence was something he was used to—preferred, even—this was a silence tinged with sorrow and frustration.
Maybe even fear, but he thought that was his, an alien emotion snaking under his shifting skin. He wasn't afraid of his home, he wasn't afraid of his dead brethren, he wasn't afraid of any material consequence he could think of, but he found himself inexplicably afraid by what Castiella would say. What she would do. In a moment of brutal honesty, spoken as only two words, he had bared much of himself.
He had thought he was saving this place, but Helovia's Gods had thwarted him.
Perfect? His huge eyes blinked, and fell towards the rose-colored girl, golden sparks dancing across her skin. He looked within her, felt the slumbering power of the doves, and he found himself wondering—did I just disappoint her? did she consider me perfect until just now..?
Was he perfect? He was a behemoth of death and danger, coursing with power, drunk on dreams; but he couldn't fix a single thing.
No, not perfect, then. He let the concept roll around his skull.
He didn't like it.
"Your father had you picking bones?" he asked, bluntly; from a less severe creature it would've been called blurted out, but from a God of his stature, and with his mouth, it seemed too solemn. His forehead was slightly furrowed, his gaze keen; he wasn't sure what else she might refer to. "Did, uh.. did I kill him?" Slowly, he bent to draw another bone from the body, knowing that he would soon have to find another corpse. He held the bone in his mouth, rolled it around with his tongue—found a slight imperfection, and crushed it between his jaws.
"I think," he said after a moment, spitting splinters of bone to the beach, "you're no more insane than I am."
Which, frankly, could mean anything.
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
