The lactescent stalion was easily mistakeable for a snow drift with legs, as his till poise and niveous hide blended pwerfectly with the blanketed rollings of the valley. he had his camargue ancestors to bless for that. since his entrance upon the terra he had refrained from travelling inward, away from the comfort the heavy-laden pines that stood greenly not ten feet from where he stood, a few boidylengths, two good bunds... or two minutes with his careful shuffling gait.for a demonstration of how easily time passed before his sightless eyes; while he delved so greedily into the oblivion of his labyrinth psyche, was the ice formations encompassing his onyx daggers in a beautifully fragile enclosure. life passed, for the moment, observed but unregistered beyond the safety of his frame. occuli were half-lidded from his trance, serving merely to damper the darkness of his milky irises.
standing, however for away, the sheer impossibility of deciphering his conferencing thoughts and emotion from such an expressionless pallet would prove an immense obstacle to interfere with such a set atmosphere. but i, sitting here a ways away, can summon every half-formed thought to sift through the rivers of his consciousness, and put on display for your awaiting eyes. every desire, hope, dream that lurks behind his sophisitcated, immovable facade. but treading that deeply into such a complex array of psychological fact would be a monstrous feat. instead i may but hint, suggest to you what exactly our poor, confused friend has on his mind.
would you believe, from his cool exposure and dreamy expression, that he wages a war with his concios, that logic has been utterly defeated, and that chaos wound so tightly to itself has erupted from the grounds of his persona? thoughts along the lines of death. child. war. flee. future. fling themselves in suicidal panics about his grey matter? thoughts so unrelated and alien from one another, but held together with doubtless sociopathic intent. and what causes one to lose all sense of presence? to spark a deadly harmony of disastrous thoughts? four lines. a little rhythm. a poem. a quatrain. the musical melody of words in the absence of instrumental accompaniment. a prophecy. and he was caught. locked within the confining walls of the analysation, and yet completely safe. at home within the fortress of dermis and sinew and blood and bone.
it was his nose that saved him, hed his hand while he stepped back from the edge, lessened his medication and waved aside the impending doctors in white coats. a perfectly ordinary perfume, whose brother and sister scents created a distant monotony that characterised the valley. a giant knot of assimilation. ofcourse, each strand could be unwound, traced to it's prper source. but such an undertaking, with no idea of the outcome save that one smell was a near impossibility, and any equine was likely to lose patience with the task long before it was through. This particular aroma however, had a certain sweetness to it. salvation in any form could flavour most anything to a desired taste. and this one had surely saved him from himself. the strength of this scent compelled him to take action. it was more than the dull throb he perceived from far off groupings, this alluring smell came from somewhere closer.
with the lack of attention his gloomy mindset shattered and splinterd it's way into his subconcious. to harrow him at a later time. very adverse to sinking himself once more into the painstaking analysis of those bothersome four lines. the ivory statue cocked an auditive accessory atop his pate in the direction his mug indicated. with a flare of coral lined nostrils to accompany the intent alignment of his senses.
as the lids peeled from his ooids no trace of discomfort crinkled their corners. indeed, briefly the stallion turned and stared in blatant rebellion toward the haze clouded sun. Ra tried his bes to provide the light that was his reign, but ignorant of his effrots a drab fog had set itself comfortably in screening of his bountiful light and vital heat.
without notice the command to break free of his icy bonds and march toward the strange femme was heeded by his muscled limbs, and in an almost comical way he trudged forwar as if his eyes were planted upon the soles of his mammoth feet; polished flints raised above the earth and hesitated it deent, assuring that he wasn't about to trust the whole of his weight to a patch of frozen water that would undoubtedly send him crashing into the lithosphere without a second thought.
in this maner he proceeded. his extremities performing their gracefully humorous dance, while his cerbrum maintained it's eevated position, allowing his nose and ears to guide him toward his goal.
as the deflowered flakes in his wake grew more numerous the purely tinted brjo gradually realised the radiating warmth of another life form. he stopped, unure of the distance that rested between them. a frown flickered the concentrated alignment of his countenance. indicesion racked his stance, and with the lengthening of silence he tested the air with a single expression, greeting, question.
Hello?
his voice was a low baritone, concise and quiet in it's delivery, his words or rather word, reverberated with tainted patience as he strained to hear a response.
so many things were his senses good for, and still the faults of a missing one showed plainly through at times such as these. his nose told him many things; that the creature in face of him was equid, that she was a she.. and a fringe of perpiration alerted him to sort of suppressed spirit, and wary indecision. His ears furthered the mentl image, the crunch of snow as the mare shifted weight indicated a hesitation. such an action was distinct, among the many different possible meanings. and with the addition of touch he could locate the kona, to a certain proximity and so the question. now voiced, he reflexively shifted his bulk to rest more upon the hind portion of his frame. sinews relaxed with the revelation that no further movement would be needed for a little while. staring ahead blankly in the general direction from which he detected her presence.
listless and milky in appearance, the blue lamps curiously neglected the required black dot, the polem of his steely optical flowers. there was no pupil there.
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