| Subject: >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< ... Never The Less ... >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< - >< |
Author:
Twisted Silver
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Date Posted: 16:32:42 03/30/01 Fri
Author Host/IP: a050-0226.flnt.splitrock.net/63.252.144.226
In reply to:
Never The Less
's message, "<+><+><+>... A silent being watches from within the cover of mist which hast bestowed upon her ...<+><+><+>" on 10:21:52 03/30/01 Fri
*A hushed bubble of music rises in his throat, brought forth unto the lift of air spreading before him, baked crisp with fresh sunlight, raw and new. Everything was open, everything was new and free, and he was part of the amazing clockwork, the center of an unbelievable universe which cups itself gently in the gleam of his bright eye. Raven eyes darting swiftly to find others, his nostrils wink in the discovery of a new scent, something frightened and forever wary drifting upon its air. His smile bottoms out, curving back to nothing, the scent unfamiliar. Some nearby equine was unhappy; something hard for him to understand. Though still so young, he had not know sadness as this other had, and a sudden determination seizes him. Endless gaze wheeling on hawk-tipped wings, intent on discovering the source of the sweet scent, his deep eyes find the hills beyond the meadow, the path to the beach, the shadowy forest, where his sight suddenly stops. There... Crept into hiding somewhere within the eclipse of the sun, where the canopy of dark boughs sheltered the smooth breath of moss and dried leaves below, a gaunt figure haunts the darkness with uncertainty, her form pressed with nervous apprehension back to the farthest stashes of consciousness. But she watches him; nostrils bursting forth, head lowering as a sign of trustworthiness, his muscles roll into smooth action as he pulls into a casual stroll, half in her direction, gaze peering further into the pitch of the dark woods, her obscure figure fading, coming back, trees shifting silently overhead. Kind nature wishing to help, good heart saddened by the aura of wary depression, he utters a syrupy whicker, tenderly soft, eyes pillowed within a cushion of curiosity and warmth.*
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