03-31-2021, 01:38 AM
[table][tr][td][/td][td]
ultimum eques
the golden eyes
stoneguard
albino oriental
tags
the golden eyes
stoneguard
albino oriental
tags
[div style="max-width: 360px; font-family: georgia; color: #664b4a; text-align: left; padding-top: 8px; padding-left: 10px; letter-spacing: 1px; font-size: 12px;"]NEVER GETS ANY BETTER, ONLY GETS WORSE
Once a habit ingrained within his very muscle, unassisted the smooth stroke, confident each as edge glided along stone. Mindless those prolonged minutes, the clamour of his thoughts grown still for there was no room for anything except that repetitive motion. Too long had elapsed since necessity had dictated such ritual be performed, forgone for reasons held against his chest, a burning iron he would not allow to fall. He had forgotten much in the years that passed, coalesced until the days seemed too numerous to truly have transpired, this one of few retained.
Too trivial a price for his role, never enough laid out in repentance. Deserved such, his heart weighted beneath guilt, a constant the shame that pulls at the strings of his heart with deft hands. Or he may simply be an old man grown deluded in an age he though never to achieve, his bones aching with a weariness he knew not to attribute solely to the frame of time he had seen come and go.
Deep the breath he drew in, held for a time too long, release bringing no comfort to the brief burn left in his chest. Useless such ponderance, to allow his past once more to hold fast, dictate the progression before, but always he came back to it. Was this why he still carried the dagger worn beneath age and use, before him laid, a shimmering point catching and reflecting the light of the moon nestled in the velvet of the night sky. Reverence seemed almost present in gentle touch, over the blade paw moving, each deeply carved imperfection mapped out. Easy would it be to discard it, allow the aggravated depths of the river he perched before to swallow it.
Supple the old leather beneath his touch, weight imperfect, numerous repairs leaving a mark that might not be removed. For a time it was only held, the constant sound of the water inviting, wishing for that he need only release. Opposite comes to fruition, closer held, blunt edge scraping against his skin. They deserved better, that he was incapable of providing, thus the shackle he must bear had it become, despised and adored for reasons he could not voice.
Maybe such which guided unsure movement, replicated a care he felt not, simply going through that deemed necessary. The locating of a suitable whetstone had been a tiresome affair, though one he would repeat had the need arisen, within his grasp lifted the dark stone once nestled in the grass framing the bank of the river. No longer was there an ease in the strokes, blade scraping against the surface, sparks brief in their existence as angle proved wrong. On continued all the same, assured engaged muscle memory if given a chance.
"Damn it." Sharp the soft words, barely register their use as the blade slid too far. It seemed he had judged wrong and some bite was still present. Wet grown the leather of hilt before it may be dropped, free the flow welling from broken pad, shallow the pool gathered before it spilled over. Deserved for his stupidity, a due punishment for how he had grown careless, all the same displeased the deep breath that escaped his nostrils as he inspected the weeping cut.
[/td][/tr][/table]Too trivial a price for his role, never enough laid out in repentance. Deserved such, his heart weighted beneath guilt, a constant the shame that pulls at the strings of his heart with deft hands. Or he may simply be an old man grown deluded in an age he though never to achieve, his bones aching with a weariness he knew not to attribute solely to the frame of time he had seen come and go.
Deep the breath he drew in, held for a time too long, release bringing no comfort to the brief burn left in his chest. Useless such ponderance, to allow his past once more to hold fast, dictate the progression before, but always he came back to it. Was this why he still carried the dagger worn beneath age and use, before him laid, a shimmering point catching and reflecting the light of the moon nestled in the velvet of the night sky. Reverence seemed almost present in gentle touch, over the blade paw moving, each deeply carved imperfection mapped out. Easy would it be to discard it, allow the aggravated depths of the river he perched before to swallow it.
Supple the old leather beneath his touch, weight imperfect, numerous repairs leaving a mark that might not be removed. For a time it was only held, the constant sound of the water inviting, wishing for that he need only release. Opposite comes to fruition, closer held, blunt edge scraping against his skin. They deserved better, that he was incapable of providing, thus the shackle he must bear had it become, despised and adored for reasons he could not voice.
Maybe such which guided unsure movement, replicated a care he felt not, simply going through that deemed necessary. The locating of a suitable whetstone had been a tiresome affair, though one he would repeat had the need arisen, within his grasp lifted the dark stone once nestled in the grass framing the bank of the river. No longer was there an ease in the strokes, blade scraping against the surface, sparks brief in their existence as angle proved wrong. On continued all the same, assured engaged muscle memory if given a chance.
"Damn it." Sharp the soft words, barely register their use as the blade slid too far. It seemed he had judged wrong and some bite was still present. Wet grown the leather of hilt before it may be dropped, free the flow welling from broken pad, shallow the pool gathered before it spilled over. Deserved for his stupidity, a due punishment for how he had grown careless, all the same displeased the deep breath that escaped his nostrils as he inspected the weeping cut.
© MADI
