Halcyon Flats
06-14-2018, 01:05 PM
hold on to my HEARTBEAT —
You're too sad to be afraid, but the rush in your veins feels almost the same; it's a torrent, cold and anxious, mounting adrenaline as you wait—precious seconds sliding by as something in you tries to mount a feeble defense. It whispers that it can't get any worse, that he has already rejected you once, when he slipped away from you in the darkness of Halyven, that if he rejects you again you can leave and let it be the end of your chapter. You don't have to seek out that which doesn't want you.
So maybe you are both sad and afraid as your emotions strangle you in that brief, brief time before you parse his reaction; he laughs without sound, silently vibrating as he leaps after your retreating form.
You decide you are allowed to envy his grace, the slim lines of his body, the narrowness of his waist and his legs and how he floats. You're allowed to envy the power thrusting him into the sky, the heights his hind hooves reach as he bucks in your shadow; mesmerized and amazed you fly above the treacherous flats, unsure of what to do with this wondrous thing you have created. You fear you might break it if you try to hold it, or that it'll turn out you don't know what he's asking of you.
That you won't be good enough.
The sadness has evaporated, but the fear has not. You watch him stop, and you bank, circling; is he asking for your initiative? Is he waiting for you? But if so, what is he expecting?
It's complex, and you don't quite dare to just .. do .. anything.
He's moving again. Slower, more controlled; it's not exercise, not anymore.
It's art.
Your wings beat hard, hard, hard as your forward motion ceases; you watch, enraptured. You watch, still afraid of disappointing him.
You don't understand what he's asking. You don't understand what he expects. You don't understand what he wants you to do, and you don't know what you want, either.
Your wings scream for a release, and you ease into a glide, looking for a pattern in what he does, shadowing his movements, finding his rhythm.
But you don't know what to do with it. You're the storm blowing down from the mountains, not a power contained and refined; airborne, there's just too much of your body to shift so rapidly.
You try, though. You sacrifice the smaller details, smooth over the shorter shifts into longer arcs, your shadow cast across his shadow, and then away again.
[ have a confused Waker ]
So maybe you are both sad and afraid as your emotions strangle you in that brief, brief time before you parse his reaction; he laughs without sound, silently vibrating as he leaps after your retreating form.
You decide you are allowed to envy his grace, the slim lines of his body, the narrowness of his waist and his legs and how he floats. You're allowed to envy the power thrusting him into the sky, the heights his hind hooves reach as he bucks in your shadow; mesmerized and amazed you fly above the treacherous flats, unsure of what to do with this wondrous thing you have created. You fear you might break it if you try to hold it, or that it'll turn out you don't know what he's asking of you.
That you won't be good enough.
The sadness has evaporated, but the fear has not. You watch him stop, and you bank, circling; is he asking for your initiative? Is he waiting for you? But if so, what is he expecting?
It's complex, and you don't quite dare to just .. do .. anything.
He's moving again. Slower, more controlled; it's not exercise, not anymore.
It's art.
Your wings beat hard, hard, hard as your forward motion ceases; you watch, enraptured. You watch, still afraid of disappointing him.
You don't understand what he's asking. You don't understand what he expects. You don't understand what he wants you to do, and you don't know what you want, either.
Your wings scream for a release, and you ease into a glide, looking for a pattern in what he does, shadowing his movements, finding his rhythm.
But you don't know what to do with it. You're the storm blowing down from the mountains, not a power contained and refined; airborne, there's just too much of your body to shift so rapidly.
You try, though. You sacrifice the smaller details, smooth over the shorter shifts into longer arcs, your shadow cast across his shadow, and then away again.
[ have a confused Waker ]
you’re a dreamer and you don’t know
that no story’s carved in stone
