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for we were made of stronger things
IP: 144.124.243.154
Posted on May 26, 2011 at 10:07:29 PM by tristan & celidon






Celidon’s keen ears detected the unmistakable sound of pounding feet growing steadily louder on the other side of the wooden door. His bright green eyes remained fixed upon his fairy, but his scruffy ears did flick in the direction from which the sound was coming, his slender tail beginning to wag in anticipation. Tristan however, heard nothing, his own eyes still fixed upon the fires below, the funeral pyres of those who had fallen in the most recent battle of the war, which had been the only thing he had ever known. The flickering of red, amber and yellow seemed beautiful in the growing darkness, the clear night meaning that the flames were robbed of none of their vibrancy. The scent of smoke was thick upon the air, though the wind carried most of it away from the castle, a stream of gases wound up and dancing with the souls of the fallen which had been released alongside them. A final chance to fly before they were swept off into that other place, that other world where only the dead could go, and the living could not follow. The child bit his lip again, as another chilling thought entered his mind, he saw himself standing with his mother and brother in front of a pyre on top of which lay the prostrate form of his father.

He inwardly jumped therefore when the door ricocheted off the outer stone wall of the tower, though his small child’s body did little to outwardly display the surprise the girl had given him. His left hand had tightened its grip upon the ledge slightly however and there was an expression of distinct reproach in the look he cast a glance in her direction. Celidon looked at the girl’s strange familiar with his head tilted slightly to the right in an expression of distinct curiosity. All of her parts did not quite seem to match with one another. The dog was distracted from this quandary however by the smell of, if he was not much mistaken, cookies. He was just about to put on his very best cute look in order to try and wrangle one from the girl, when she opened her mouth and spoke to his master.

Tristan turned his head and shoulders towards her and raised an eyebrow in a manner most reminiscent of his father, an amused look playing in the corner of his mouth. She was bossy. He could tell that much already. Tristan did not like being bossed around by anyone, let alone by a girl who he did not know. “I don’t see your name on it,” he told her defiantly, “and besides, there are plenty of other turrets to sit on. It’s a big castle.” The girl had moved closer to him, and Tristan felt remarkably claustrophobic, as he tried very hard to resist the urge to push her away from him again. He must not push girls, he knew that, but in this instance it was very difficult. Instead he sighed and shook his head, “I don’t have to do anything you tell me,” he continued simply, “you’ll just have to find somewhere else to sit.”



tristan & celidon
for we were made of stronger things,
the memories of soldiers, the children of kings


original image by Stefan Tell at flickr.com






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