Posted on October 30, 2012 at 03:20:17 AM by BADR
 He had once understood why the elders had worshipped the moon. Perhaps for every person it was different- perhaps for men and women alike, the silver disc in the sky was little more than a glowing decoration that twinkled amongst the stars, sprinting to hide behind the mountains as the sun took his golden throne in the heavens. Perhaps for others, it was a delicate lover that embraced you with every nightfall. When the sky was painted purple and the clouds were skipping carelessly across the horizon, so Badr had once heard, the moon was known to walk amongst the mortals in the form of silver light, tracing thin fingers across soft skins and embracing the bodies of the sick or the ill in warm hands.
There had been more stories, rumors, tales, and lies than any human could have counted on two hands. While the sand king would have been more than glad to divulge to any listening ear that he had heard and told a great many stories of the moon when he had been young and naïve, he had learned that it would be better not to tell them that he had never believed a single word that he had ever said. Even at the hands of children, torches and clubs were meant for blasphemers, and they would still cut into his skin if it had been discovered that he believed not in the cultures of his home. As the spotted woman turned her attention to the desert, with the soft purple haze of the evening sky starting to bleed like spilled ink over their heads and the only heat that seemed to sit heavily around them was in the sun warmed sand under their bellies and hooves, Badr turns his dark eyes to the dunes- the great sandy hills that rolled and thundered like gods in the distance under the lightest touch of wind. Today they are still, suckling the color from the sky’s great palette, and in turn shifting from a warm shade of orange-yellow to purple-grey. Eventually, as night sprung upon them, they would be plunged into total darkness that was only to be lit by the silve rlight of the moon. “Why here?” She asks him, her voice sounding somewhat whimsical under the fading sun. “The sand can’t hurt me, I think.” He muses, almos to himself, his voice low as his eyes stay firm against the dunes that would eventually be casting soft shadows over them. badr The misguided jailbird. stallion. flaxen liver chestnut. unknown crossbreed. ee aa ff. fifteen & three hands. eight years. russell. |
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Replies:
- bittersweet between my teeth - By jezibelle October 31, 2012 at 00:50:38 AM
- Let there be fire. - By BADR November 2, 2012 at 08:24:27 PM
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