| Subject: <+><+><+><+>--- Twisted Silver ---<+><+><+><+> |
Author:
Never The Less
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Date Posted: 10:31:20 04/11/01 Wed
Author Host/IP: NoHost/24.66.94.142
In reply to:
Twisted Silver
's message, ">< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< ... Never The Less ... >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - ><" on 16:32:42 03/30/01 Fri
*His distorted, unclear figure treads past the break of trees in which she stands, the thin line supporting a hopeful ambition, a longing for desperate release from this path which she had chosen to tread, the constant loneliness which she had brought upon herself, the cast, the expellence of herself from all others, all others but for the few friends who had long since disappeared amidst the constant renewal of the winds themselves, the remnance of where they had once stood, no longer visible, even the slight dentations of their hooves that had solemny, faithfully pressed the carpet of verdant vegitation washed away by the ceaseless rocking of the wave-like winds, the winds which washed with such fury against any memorabilia of these few friends who had calmed her, its plans so devious, so discreat, yet such a sheraid of illusions that she could not comprehend until it was too late..... But this steed.. How different was he, faithful to bring but happiness upon everything in his path, the warm blanket of the sunlights shafts surrounding him, even the bed, the ocean of stalks which lay beneath him following his direction only in their endless ripple which follows through the whole of the plain, ending only at the golden beaches, where the constant green become small groupings, tiny tufts of blade..... She watches.... Her eye endless, her gaze staring, gazing, watching in a combination of fear and anticipation, both which freeze her perminantly upon the plain she treads, her hooves lightly scraping the surface beneath her, struggling to cast herself backward, though her body lays motionless, her limbs crying out to escape the presence of the one who weaves with expert precision through the boughs of the timber, his figure displayed upon the pain of glass, cracked with the intricut twigs which splayed upon it........ A protestant squeal escapes the leaping depths of her throat, her limbs longing to spring away, to leave the concealing grouping of select pine which concealed her, though, her mind racing, tauting, tensing in constant throb of the struggle to leave, to free herself of knowledge of his existence, though her heart begged her to stay.... His endless nickers and low calls of arrival pierce the thick flesh of her lobes as she stands to appraise his presence, her mind giving into the whispered pleads of her heart as she awaits him..........*
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