Post by Jennycallie on Feb 27, 2018 19:28:08 GMT -6
Solivagant (n): A lone wanderer
Shiann and Florian
Somewhere in the Skytop Forest, winter 1701
Shiann and Florian
Somewhere in the Skytop Forest, winter 1701
Florian
The soldier did not arrive in the world as they had left it. There was no blast of power, no ominous stillness held by the waiting forest, no portent of greatness or mystery. One moment the the trees were swaying gently in wind, casting stark shadows upon the empty clearing in the moonlight- and the next, their shadows traced over a crumpled form, glittering brightly in the snow. The trees continued to paint their shadows in unconcerned silence. If small creatures moving through the underbrush noticed the forest's newest arrival, they paused only briefly, if at all. The forest was unimpressed; rebirth and the cycles of life were after all nothing new to the ancient trees. They did not fear the stranger, who reflected the moonlight, glittered like so many fractured stars... who did not move.
The trees did not wait for the stranger to draw breath; the trees did not care. Or... perhaps the trees did, perhaps the trees remembered. Remembered when this creature of starlight and sharp edges walked among them, eons ago, a herald of flame and destruction. Perhaps then, the trees were not unconcerned but were rather stoic, unflinching in their regard of a fallen enemy given flesh once more.
Perhaps. It is difficult to discern the moods of trees.
Time passed lazily, and the trees continued to cast their shadows, and the stranger continued to lay immobile, just another part of the forest floor. Eventually, unremarked, the creature sent a sudden plume of vapor into the air as a breath hissed through their nostrils. Their sides heaved, a violent spasm that broke the peaceful silence of the clearing, each breath shuddering into existence as if a wound, an injury.
Florian's first sight upon their rebirth was of an unfamiliar sky, unknown stars dazzling their wild eyes as they rolled from side to side, uncomprehending. There had been... there had been fire, and blood, and arcane so thick it coated the tongue, and it had all been... it had all been nothing to the love that had blazed in Florian's chest, that had shone from every pore, blinding them. There had been love, and fire... there had been... had been... something... or nothing at all...
Florian heaved themself upright without conscious effort, and staggered, head low and legs splayed wide like a newborn. After all, they were. The memories slipped through Florian's mind, dissipating as carelessly as smoke as the kirin gazed around the forest, moonlight reflecting off their wide eyes and edged scales. They did not recognize the forest, did not recognize the stars, did not recognize the strange air that bit at their exposed skin (cold, they would later learn it was called. Or remember. It was the same to them). Most of all, Florian did not recognize themself, their very existence.
"W... what?" they whispered painfully, their voice cracking on the sound. "What is... how... wha..." They swallowed, though it did nothing to alleviate the disuse of their throat, or the blossoming fear in their chest. "Ignacio...?"
As if in answer to Florian's words, a sudden glimmer caught their eye, and the kirin lurched sideways, antlers dipping as they caught their tenuous balance. Fire. They saw fire, somewhere in the trees there was fire. Fire was... fire was good, fire was everything. Ignacio.
If Florian had stopped to ask themself who, what Ignacio was, they would not have been able to answer, would only know that it drew them forward, stumbling through the trees with all of the ethereal grace of a rampaging overweight moose.
The trees did not wait for the stranger to draw breath; the trees did not care. Or... perhaps the trees did, perhaps the trees remembered. Remembered when this creature of starlight and sharp edges walked among them, eons ago, a herald of flame and destruction. Perhaps then, the trees were not unconcerned but were rather stoic, unflinching in their regard of a fallen enemy given flesh once more.
Perhaps. It is difficult to discern the moods of trees.
Time passed lazily, and the trees continued to cast their shadows, and the stranger continued to lay immobile, just another part of the forest floor. Eventually, unremarked, the creature sent a sudden plume of vapor into the air as a breath hissed through their nostrils. Their sides heaved, a violent spasm that broke the peaceful silence of the clearing, each breath shuddering into existence as if a wound, an injury.
Florian's first sight upon their rebirth was of an unfamiliar sky, unknown stars dazzling their wild eyes as they rolled from side to side, uncomprehending. There had been... there had been fire, and blood, and arcane so thick it coated the tongue, and it had all been... it had all been nothing to the love that had blazed in Florian's chest, that had shone from every pore, blinding them. There had been love, and fire... there had been... had been... something... or nothing at all...
Florian heaved themself upright without conscious effort, and staggered, head low and legs splayed wide like a newborn. After all, they were. The memories slipped through Florian's mind, dissipating as carelessly as smoke as the kirin gazed around the forest, moonlight reflecting off their wide eyes and edged scales. They did not recognize the forest, did not recognize the stars, did not recognize the strange air that bit at their exposed skin (cold, they would later learn it was called. Or remember. It was the same to them). Most of all, Florian did not recognize themself, their very existence.
"W... what?" they whispered painfully, their voice cracking on the sound. "What is... how... wha..." They swallowed, though it did nothing to alleviate the disuse of their throat, or the blossoming fear in their chest. "Ignacio...?"
As if in answer to Florian's words, a sudden glimmer caught their eye, and the kirin lurched sideways, antlers dipping as they caught their tenuous balance. Fire. They saw fire, somewhere in the trees there was fire. Fire was... fire was good, fire was everything. Ignacio.
If Florian had stopped to ask themself who, what Ignacio was, they would not have been able to answer, would only know that it drew them forward, stumbling through the trees with all of the ethereal grace of a rampaging overweight moose.
post 1 | 595 words
