06-22-2021, 09:44 AM
(This post was last modified: 09-07-2021, 03:39 AM by gerra. Edited 2 times in total.)
any welcome ♡
wildling thing of frost-fables and naught else;
the sapling that creaks beneath his unending growth an anchor in this timid summersun's deluge.
perhaps those blind fates three had been the same that had sung them into this new world, for new it would always remain to the eyes of the lad so near-like to his father. eyes that shut in a slow, practiced cleave of respite sought and now savored. how long had it been since they had first awoken, all of them so easily found by the heather-queen the same way an egg-hunter might chance upon a spring nest?
and how glad he had been that she had not fallen upon them all. his sisters, fierce that they were — his father, even, the very cynosure of which that ferocity sprung.
perhaps that was all that mattered. they had come to these sea-spires, after all; and the song of the nonír was the song of this crux and the blood-rush of the vale-water and the marrow of the green. and so, as the young are so often wont to do, he trusts in the hallelujah of god-writ that might have very well abandoned them here.
and perhaps still fate could be woven even into, through, and beyond the veils of this world, and what-ever had been. even if their gods cannot follow. even if they had been so uplifted, so eroded. they are here, within this spine by the sea. even as if he must act as such an undisturbed mountain as to let his dear sisters flourish in the foothills and upon the cliffs of him; to tangle in the crevices of his stoneheart, keep him fast to the bowels of this very earth. ground him; remind him.
little did asgeir feel yet the worldweight on his shoulders;
but a boy's brooding is never done, really.
+1 Discovery Point
the staff team luvs u