black horse reaping;
Moments,
Like scattered ashes from a fire he started. From a fire he could not contain.
A fire burning, consuming. He has left so much to the fire, so many things. So many faces. He can’t remember them all but they are like ghosts to him, even without shape they haunt him.
The day looks golden through the trees, sunlight dripping honey sweet down the slick slope of his dark neck. He can hear the falls in the distance. Their constant churning, like the hooves of a thousand horses coming towards him一
He lips at a leaf. Dark eyes searching the little clearing he’d found. It was not much. It was enough. A place he could think, where he could pretend to not hear the whispers and mumbles of all the others out in the evening sun. How he missed those hours with her, how he missed the feeling of purpose and progress.
But,
He thinks, the fire.
That dreadful beast of flame. How he had let it burn, burn, burn. What did he have left when the smoke began to rise up from the desolation? Gael knew it would be nothing, no one. He had let it all fall from him. Thinking, perhaps, in his own way, there was some sort of renewal in the giving up.
He’d been wrong, so very wrong.
gael