10-13-2017, 05:02 AM (This post was last modified: 10-18-2017, 08:34 AM by Roland.)
They had passed through the shroud of night without incident, and emerged on the other side to be greeted by a watery dawn. As the trees had thinned in the last hour they’d travelled, the canopy overhead parted to let weak gray light filter through, and with every glimpse of the sky, Roland felt a weight being lifted from his chest. The rain had ceased in the night, some time before dawn began to jettison slivers of light across the uncovered sky, and they left the cover of darkness into the arms of yet another uncharted stretch of land. The air seemed clear and crisp, carrying a chill that remained with a vexing determination, long after the rain had subsided and left them to trudge through its remains, hock-deep in the dirt and rotting leaves that sprawled in a haphazard pattern underfoot. In some confounding way, the world around him felt a little less frightening, the more distance they put between themselves and the portal. Roland was intent on observing the scenery around them, his fatigue having faded as the morning drew near, and he absorbed his surroundings with cautious curiousity as they passed through the woods.
Though the feeling had not stirred within him for a long time, there was something exhilarating about the act of exploration, pioneering new trails and discovering new regions. There seemed to be a little more energy in his step as they emerged into the light and saw the sea stretched before them. A familiar sensation crept into his bones then, brought on by the scent of salt carried by the fresh breeze. It seemed they were up among the clouds, perched on the fringe of a jagged line of cliffs bordering the expanse of water below, and it lay far beyond their reach. Roland kept far from the brink as they walked, battered by the wind as it slapped against the edges of the crags. It was not foreign to him, the feeling of standing at a precipice, and for a moment he could pretend he was home, wandering the steppe, and all was well.
The ground sloped up for a ways, and Roland sluggishly drew himself the remaining steps to its apex, where they could look out across the ocean and the wakening sun’s rays as they touched the surface, sparking pinpricks of light on the gentle, rising waves. It was tumultuous and yet peaceful, watching the wind toss the water against the cliffsides. He searched the horizon for something, some kind of landmark he might recognize, as if some beacon could be found jutting out from the blurred edge between sea and sky, guiding them home; but as he scanned the expanse of water, his gaze caught no such obelisk cutting a pale silhouette on the borders of the ocean.
A chill still lingered in his bones, making him ache for warmth and comfort, a place to lie down and sleep- sleep until the pain ebbed away, until he could rise to a sunlit morning in the comfort of his cave beyond the lake, and realize this was all a feverish dream inspired by the threat of an unhinged god. The rainwater had lingered in his hair, dampness still settled against the skin of his neck where his mane had dried in unkempt curls, but he could hardly be bothered to lament his appearance when they had greater concerns at hand. The wind battered his side as he turned to Lena, glad to look upon her in the light at last, where the shadows and the curtains of rain could not obscure her face from view. Though he felt utterly lost beneath a vast and endless sky, he was saved from complete despair with her at his side.
Dawn’s radiant hues were fading from the stretches of the horizon as he drew nearer, reaching out for her in the silence. The waves crashed against the rocks below, and it could have almost lulled him to sleep as he relaxed in the warmth of Lena’s body against his. “How are you holding up?” He asked softly. The forest sat on the slope below them, and Roland was glad to have left it behind. He would be equally glad to never return.
Push your luck if it makes you a promise that turns con men honest.
The sultry, humid heat snatched at her first; she’d been a maiden of the mountains, of the pine, of the snow and frigid wind for too long – it crept at her throat and leapt at her lungs, caused an already keen sense of discomfort to loom and prosper. She pushed back at it with steely determination and stalwart enterprise, and though the journey was not completely overwhelming, treacherous, or unnerving, the eerie, otherworldly qualities of the beckoning, leering forest sent her senses into constant contemplation. There were dangerous things all around them (she’d lived through too much to expect anything less) - foreign and unknown, and the Mender would be foolish and lying if she declared herself absent of fear. It was a plaguing sensation, uncomfortable and bleak, but a warning sign too – Imogen was on alert, keen white ears swiveling in all directions, and only when they’d crawled from the inky, Stygian denizen did Lena offer a small sigh of relief, a breath of disquiet bounding away from her. Her healer’s mind grappled with the opportunities she hadn’t snagged at ruminating and speculating over the brilliant array of plant life (for which could be beneficial, or which would tangle, threaten, and devour?), but they could come in later moments, when she knew more about this world, when she could be more than a defiant little blossom in the churning, bristling wind.
She caught traces of sea air as they maneuvered further down the length of scenery, basking along cliffs and entangling amidst the salty brine; and all at once she was nearly back within another time, another place. The sights and sounds of the past would always haunt her, would always make her dream for those moments lost to shadows, darkness, and betrayal; because they’d been beautiful, grand, and serene, because even if they’d been bleak too, there’d been so many other occasions when the world hadn’t swallowed them whole. They seemed like heaven compared to their current whereabouts – but she’d been a witness to too many ghosts and wraiths, phantoms and false gods – perhaps her perception had been skewed, altered, and clawed apart in the reigning, recent days. To protect and shield herself, she hummed under her breath, a quiet, grand set of notes that combined and wove their way along the breeze, blending into the crashing waves below, something serene and tranquil amidst the wild, wicked empire they’d come to barely understand.
Lost amidst memories and apprehension, along coils and ripples of strength, endurance, and fortitude (and where to go next, what did this place have to offer, was there shelter in the storm, was there something beyond all of this that they were supposed to find, honor, harbor, or harpoon?), she stared over the great expanse and almost didn’t hear Roland until the softness of his voice had touched along her ears. She turned towards him then, watched the first touches of dawn elongate over his face, and smiled; eternally a dreamer. “I’m fine,” the Songbird murmured in reply, always a stanza on her lips, a refrain on her tongue, glancing back towards the grove they’d been within only minutes before. “The forest leaves an unsettling feeling,” she offered, brutal honesty, for she had no reason to disguise herself in his presence – they were far past masquerades and veils (she was devotion, benedictions, faith, and love, triumphant in the darkest of hours, blinding in the distant reveries and raptures). Imogen agreed with a disgruntled growl and hiss directed towards the uncanny trees. Then Lena's eyes came to rest on Roland's again, and she drowned in them once more, that brilliant, bold blue, like the fringes of the sea down below (except brighter; sometimes the sky, sometimes the horizon, sometimes the unfreezing lake), pulsing his inquiry back. “And you?”
Rainforest Cliffs
