there are two kinds of spiritual law

Caillen Winters · 07-21-2011, 12:44 AM

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OOC → ilu forever bb <3

Rain.

His conscious knew the wetness for what it was, the heavenly tears that fell as crystals and shattered on the hard earth below. Such a fleeting lifespan - A tumultuous fall from high to low, ending spectacularly yet without distinction from the mass death of all those that too, fell. And the sound; The cacophony of death, a continuous soulful drumming, like the beating of a thousand heartbeats all at once.

The forest shrouded him like a womb, and although the rain fell, he felt no cold. He existed on the brink of feeling; A sigh on the air that passed through the caress of leaves and left no trace for the mortal eye. He was a weightlessness, a gentle voice heard only by those who walked the worlds beyond this one. As the rain fell, he watched the forest that had once been his forest, and it breathed him in and out, in and out.

Form.

He was unaware of when, detached from mind and body, he became form. The simple pleasantries of existence were welcomed, but this connection to the earth was uncannily familiar. Had he had form once before? A flicker of conscience, something dark and warring and held at bay by the silver strings that bound him still to the otherplace. His womb was contracting, and the silver-gilded leaves rustled with the magic and the power of the forest. It remembered him. Carvings in trunks held little particles of who he had once been; A sad and lonely memory, as a man waltzed with a woman across the bark of sentinel pines.

The forest held her breath as he was born again. At first, the light went through him - He was not yet real, not yet capable of existence. But then the rays found matter, and he was a shadow, a figment of the imagination that lingered in one's peripheral vision, never seen, only felt. Was the rain in this world, or was it simply in his mind? Memories stirred now, deep beasts that lingered in the murky dark as sharks in deep blue water.

Sometimes, he saw others, and they walked the land and left prints where the heels of their feet landed. The forest captured these little prints of them, preserved in her mulch and her very blood. She never forgot, but she was old, far older than they, and there was so many of them. Sometimes, he would linger in the corporeal form, and wait until he could see his reflection in the whites of their eyes - But that was all he was, a reflection, and the walkers would pass on without knowing why the hair on the back of their neck was standing up.

Day held no meaning, as night. He was the voice of the land, and it was ageless and cared little for the chasing of sun and moon. He and a thousand others, Forms in the Rain, glittered like stars in the darkness. Maybe they were real, or maybe they were just little droplets that fell from the heavens, waiting and waiting for that final brilliant, tragic, little death.

Life.

His memories clung to bleached bones. They rotted under the earth, near to the heart of a woman with wild hair and deep pain. She had interested him once, but now there was movement within him. Perhaps it had started when the rain had, but the rain had been falling for an eternity now.

He left the dark, cold earth and wandered. There was a place in the heart of the forest where a terrible thing had been done, and the earth there was red with blood when seen by the eyes of the once-Caillen-now-breath. Slowly, the forest had healed that glade; deer grazed on the stubborn blades, their exhales glinting as steam in the cool air. He liked the deer; Especially the stag, so proud as it watched over its harem. They were children of the forest, not intruders, like the four-leg-two-legs. Something about the animal pulled at the memories, and suddenly he could feel them, flowing through him, pulling him from one world to the next. Life! The deer froze, and they watched him but they were not frightened, for the saw him. A great strength filled his chest, and a great pain, and it was lungs and ribcage and heart! He remembered, and his legs grew long, perfectly elegance. He remembered, and his antlers twisted like branches towards the bruised sky.

Feeling flowed from every point, and maybe he was bound to this place, for he felt no urge to leave it. The rain fell, and it hit his glossy white pelt, so white, too white. Unnatural, and yet, perfection of nature. Eyes that had no pupil saw, through all worlds and all places, and he was so joyful and so sorrowful that for a moment it felt as though this new body might be torn apart.

The deer fled, but they did not run from him. The forest-children were wraiths, and they melted back into the woods as silently and quickly as they had come. He alone stood in the glade, jets of steam furling from leathery nose. The droplets bounced around the ivory stag, almost like an aura, lit by his pelt and the mysterious rays of light. The Hunter came, but he did not fear this little Death. He feared Nothing, for he was, and would be, eternal.

Still as a statue carved from purest diamond stood the magnificent stag. As the rain stopped falling, he turned his head to the approach of paws, and Waited.

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