Falls

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

everyone _diestwice Antiqua/Roose
Posted on January 24, 2016 at 06:20:07 AM by kaleo


HE ABSOLUTELY LOVED WINTER. Snow had been falling heavily for the past two hours (right after mid evening), laying a thick blanket of cold, white powder over the earth. (It had awoken me early today. Night was still a couple hours off.) Some trees were barren, and some so laden with needles that nature's pale gift collected immensely along their branches (of which I am standing under). He was leery, and hoped that the boughs wouldn't crack and snap with the burden. It was a pretty picture though, the world so weighted by a blanket of blinding white, but the numbness he felt in his limbs...the numbness was soothing in a way. It cleared his mind, and all he felt was the biting chill of a wintry squall, snowflakes tickling his muzzle and face with a frosty touch. All he scented was an ataractic freshness as each zephyr caressed his muzzle. And, most of all, all was peacefully quiet (as it always is, but still, silence, solitude, snow...this is placidity, tranquility in its finest...) He decided to take leave of the trees, walking aimlessly around in the empty clearing before him, filling with snow like a hole fills with water in a wet monsoon. He stood pacific in the prevailing storm with eyes closed and head resting, all while snow began collecting upon his mane, back, and hindquarters. (I could just stand here in a blizzard and waste away. It would be so easy. So serene.) Though, as if the storm had heard his contemplation and wished to spare him, the snow subsided and the falling sun transformed the bleak, gray horizon into spectacular shades of red and orange, while conflagrant clouds migrated casually across the skies. The lean, black stallion waited, secluded in a snow coated clearing and dusted in white powder from his few minutes of "serenity". THE SUN WAS SINKING LOWER, and the blackness of night began suppressing the breathtaking colors of its setting. (Time to get moving. I'm kind of hungry, actually. Quite unfortunate that I didn't think of eating while the storm was mild.) He tried pushing the idea of a missed opportunity away. (You can't change the past.) At that thought, he cringed. A picture of murder was painted in his mind; his mother lying battered and torn, his father looking down upon her with a signature look of guiltless fury, and his sister, the sister that he had bonded so strongly with in the first six months of his life...(Oh, Katana.) He couldn't think about it any more. A potent flash of bitterness wracked his body like a bout of tetanus, all from a memory he had been trying to allay for what has now been two and a half years. (You can't change the past.) They were all haunting not only his dreams, but his reality as well. He felt sick and unhappy, his throat raw with emotion. The black stallion waited until he had quelled his tribulation and sorrow, and after a few moments, he had decided to travel through the Falls to find something suitable for a breakfast, each step farther from the clearing lightening his spirits that much more. Although, sadness did still cling to him, and a darkness in his heart reduced his stride to a halfhearted shuffle, as if an iron ball and chain was fixed to each pastern. (You can't change the past.) He tried dismissing his personal troubles, focusing more on his current mission: food. HE HAD FOUND WHAT HE WAS looking for. A quick-flowing river had sprayed its banks with water, melting the snow that had previously resided there. There were tufts of green poking through the dirt, and although it wasn't a substantial meal, he felt more satisfied eating a few mouthfuls of fresh vegetation than hearty grazing on brittle winter grass. The black stallion stood with his muzzle sifting through the verdigris grasses by the dark, rapid-filled river, its navy waters splashing up at his face and coating his lashes and whiskers with a brisk mist. (This has been an okay night so far. I am pretty lucky right now. How often do you find green in the middle of winter?) He continued nibbling at the riverside, a black horse in a white world. The moon was a sliver in the night sky, a silver pine needle trapped in the familiar void of darkness we call night. There was little light shed by Luna, though the stars sparkled pure and proud, occupying their distant, regal seats in the dark, remote, and seemingly empty Chaos.

HE ABSOLUTELY LOVED WINTER. Snow had been falling heavily for the past two hours (right after mid evening), laying a thick blanket of cold, white powder over the earth. (It had awoken me early today. Night was still a couple hours off.) Some trees were barren, and some so laden with needles that nature's pale gift collected immensely along their branches (of which I am standing under). He was leery, and hoped that the boughs wouldn't crack and snap with the burden. It was a pretty picture though, the world so weighted by a blanket of blinding white, but the numbness he felt in his limbs...the numbness was soothing in a way. It cleared his mind, and all he felt was the biting chill of a wintry squall, snowflakes tickling his muzzle and face with a frosty touch. All he scented was an ataractic freshness as each zephyr caressed his muzzle. And, most of all, all was peacefully quiet (as it always is, but still, silence, solitude, snow...this is placidity, tranquility in its finest...) He decided to take leave of the trees, walking aimlessly around in the empty clearing before him, filling with snow like a hole fills with water in a wet monsoon. He stood pacific in the prevailing storm with eyes closed and head resting, all while snow began collecting upon his mane, back, and hindquarters. (I could just stand here in a blizzard and waste away. It would be so easy. So serene.) Though, as if the storm had heard his contemplation and wished to spare him, the snow subsided and the falling sun transformed the bleak, gray horizon into spectacular shades of red and orange, while conflagrant clouds migrated casually across the skies. The lean, black stallion waited, secluded in a snow coated clearing and dusted in white powder from his few minutes of "serenity".

THE SUN WAS SINKING LOWER, and the blackness of night began suppressing the breathtaking colors of its setting. (Time to get moving. I'm kind of hungry, actually. Quite unfortunate that I didn't think of eating while the storm was mild.) He tried pushing the idea of a missed opportunity away. (You can't change the past.) At that thought, he cringed. A picture of murder was painted in his mind; his mother lying battered and torn, his father looking down upon her with a signature look of guiltless fury, and his sister, the sister that he had bonded so strongly with in the first six months of his life...(Oh, Katana.) He couldn't think about it any more. A potent flash of bitterness wracked his body like a bout of tetanus, all from a memory he had been trying to allay for what has now been two and a half years. (You can't change the past.) They were all haunting not only his dreams, but his reality as well. He felt sick and unhappy, his throat raw with emotion. The black stallion waited until he had quelled his tribulation and sorrow, and after a few moments, he had decided to travel through the Falls to find something suitable for a breakfast, each step farther from the clearing lightening his spirits that much more. Although, sadness did still cling to him, and a darkness in his heart reduced his stride to a halfhearted shuffle, as if an iron ball and chain was fixed to each pastern. (You can't change the past.) He tried dismissing his personal troubles, focusing more on his current mission: food.

HE HAD FOUND WHAT HE WAS looking for. A quick-flowing river had sprayed its banks with water, melting the snow that had previously resided there. There were tufts of green poking through the dirt, and although it wasn't a substantial meal, he felt more satisfied eating a few mouthfuls of fresh vegetation than hearty grazing on brittle winter grass. The black stallion stood with his muzzle sifting through the verdigris grasses by the dark, rapid-filled river, its navy waters splashing up at his face and coating his lashes and whiskers with a brisk mist. (This has been an okay night so far. I am pretty lucky right now. How often do you find green in the middle of winter?) He continued nibbling at the riverside, a black horse in a white world. The moon was a sliver in the night sky, a silver pine needle trapped in the familiar void of darkness we call night. There was little light shed by Luna, though the stars sparkled pure and proud, occupying their distant, regal seats in the dark, remote, and seemingly empty Chaos.

Replies:

We can play a game of cat and mouse... - By Antiqua January 30, 2016 at 02:32:55 PM
- there's a shadow just behind me; - By ROOSE January 31, 2016 at 02:59:57 AM

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