Post by silence on Dec 18, 2005 20:35:55 GMT -5
Humid air swirled about lengthy ebonite tresses, curling them into half formed rings that caught and tangled about with each other. Clouding atop elegant serpentine, they danced with amber lights in the rays of sun that dared make their way past tree bough and leaf. Forelocke found its way into eyes hued after deep ice, cold and disant and full of scorn for that which would thaw them. Pools of inky black within the haughty blue reflected forest, the kind which suffocated with its stiff air until one wished to run through it. It was not so bad, though, yet. He had grown up in such climate, his blood announced that as did his careless way of going. Hooves trampled tender leaf and brush as bod carved from iron traversed the close terrain cautiously.
Poll held his apex, allowing shadowed eyes to glance keenly about, seeking what lies hid in shadows and what truths flitted from the eyes. Voices hidden in the breeze whispered through his ears alone, taunting, mocking. Keep going, you're almost there... Harks, plastered to his skull since he'd set out, tightened then against sleek crown, maddened optics glinting in annoyance. Silence! If only the voices would afford him that, he'd be able to think clearly. Of course, they never would... He knew that, but he still willed it at them, willed them to be silent so he might figure how best to call the attention of a strange lord inhabiting a strange land. Audits now flicked from poll, curious visuals gazing around through vine and tree trunk silently. All at once, from ashen maw, leapt speech of daring nature to resound around the pressing air.
I call forth the lord of this terra so he might hear my question, one I put back reason to put forth: I wish to reside here as a beta, for I am in need of a home and wish to be king of no place....
Falling silent, he looked about once more, gaze silent and uncertain. He expected a harsher answer, for they always gave words harsher than he did. It was their way of acting, of going. He among them spoke with civil tongue and felt the pain of a tormented heart. Or so he thought... Whether he was right or not, he could never know, for none would ever open their heart to a half maddened stag. Indeed, more than half mad...
Irritated snort resounded from nasals at the voices, always rising when he wished them quell. Be silent... he bade them in a hiss, white rimmed eyes flicking about as if their owners might somehow show themselves and thus be banished from his ears forever. For once acting as they would, the voices fell from his ears, leaving him alone in empty silence, awaiting the judgement of a stranger on his forlorn being.
Off Kilter he was called, perhaps named rightly so for his view of the world and the world's view of him was twisted where it should be straight. He did not hate for hatred's sake, he did not kill for pleasure. The sight of blood gave him contentment only when there was a reason for shedding it. And ever since he'd run away... the voices had sprung up, bidding him do things he wished not to do. Follow this road, ask for what you want to take... Where he normally would be challenging, here he stood begging. Where was the good in that? It seemed weak, but they would not be silent until he'd done so, so here he stood, feeling the fool for listening to things unseen by any eyes. Ebonite forelock fell into his scarred face as he tossed it back and forth, the rest of his unruly mane playing along sleek crest and down to muscular shoulder. Lean bod quivered with tension, angry and anxious, as all senses went to work listening, divining. Slender legs quivered as well, the urge to move upon him but quelled by the thought he might finally find a place of brief contentment. He was not a large animal, but speed took over strength where he was concerned. Agility had built his frame, made it short and light, and only those without sense dared challenge its judgement, strange as the stag's inner workings may be. He was not mad by choice, and perhaps not even at all, once some calm had pushed away the anxious fears of a past life, still nipping at his heels with saber teeth. Always did the demons long put to rest attempt to rise up, strike him down to lie with them. Always did they hiss and cackle at his back... Resolve would put them down one day, when age and experience outweighed blind fear. Until that day, he would wait and keep always a step and a thought ahead.
Like wings of a butterfly,
So soft is thy touch,
It is apt to belie,
To give false impression,
That chaos daren't ride,
Atop something so fine,
But pride's hard to push down,
To keep hidden I think,
So answer me know,
Lest I be gone in a wink