Trees. Their sweet, muggy scent clouds my insides - missing is the fresh, salty freedom of the coast. Here I only long for the ocean, where before I stood upon its crumbling cliffs with ease. How strange I will appear, a silver ghost weaving in between the matchsticks of this forest. Drifting forward, the glint of morning is dimmed beneath the towering shadows that only an hour from now will likely fade. The gentle feeling of motion stirs whispery grey fur and I quickly gain on this soft yet firm forest earth. The ease of it is boring. A stranger to this land, I regretfully pull my thoughts away from their wistful longing and engage in the darkening setting. Tall. On either side, from every angle and virtually uniform in structure, these trees do hold a sort of majesty in their stillness. And for some, no doubt, there is rhythm and direction in their infinite pattern. My lips curve in a smile; the scent twirls itself, entwined with the musk of the pine. Homelands. Above all, one must always use a home - even, though some might argue against it - when one’s true namesake has fallen. I know not the ways of the withering forest but some do. Just as I know the ways of the churning sea and the staggering cliffs which never did rob me of my breath but only ever fed life into my shimmering blue eyes.
The only loyalty I had to possess and therefore give to my spirited sea was a last soul, whose ivory daggers clanged so hopelessly against the speed rage awoke in my veins. Dead on the cliff - a monument to the newcomers who will now never truly push me to the back of their sightless brains. These thoughts I would spit uncharacteristically into this heavy air would it be not for this new regime, close at hand. Bodily harm is worth little in our world, this I believe in countless proofs; there is now denying however, that the unsightly beast left a riggorous nuisance of a mess. The stretching ache in my flanks speaks for that. Who would ever dare smear an angel with such unworthy and broken teeth - this the king of the cliffs would have roared had he not so shamefully fallen. I slow to a light stepped trot, evenly skimming the ground as I near and veer parallel to the brutish sent marks. It was this that they did always fail to realize: many have craved the stunning grace and spirit of mine, yet they never do understand to what this loyalty is due. For, be you not powerful, I will away on my own, and be you not strong, there is only pain in seeking my allegiance. For what is mine I do pledge fierce devotement; I was born by the sea, they did say its freedom and untamed beauty is my heritage.
Here, amongst a dark forest, I stand hidden or not (both the same in this place) with trees for company as I lift my delicate chin, and announce to those that will come, of what they will find. A sigh of wind follows the halt of my step. Despite this unfamiliar stench, I revel in the way air flows through my lungs smoothly and fully. All but for the tenderness of my flank - my body flexes luxuriously; fit and strong beneath robes of glorious grey skies. My eyes are keen, and while I wait outside the markers, I let them pry open the folds of this place… one by one yet all at once.
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