In the skies, mysteries in a summer storm
#8
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Once more his words seemed to invoke within the thing a response. His maw twitched as if to form a sneer or perhaps a snarl. And yet once more that emotionless facet would not allow such a thing. The Korean’s beautiful and yet terrible features remained unmoved, cold and impassive. But that sinister mind behind those black, fathomless eyes swirled about with an innate darkness. This thing before him—it continued to be that symbol for her kind. This virus that spread upon the earth was surely because of creatures like the thing before him. Ungraceful in speech and surely ungraceful in action. Why had Cwmfen fled here? She was of his blood. She was higher than these things. But then, her mother had been a common creature, her bloodline the only thing that had brought the crow-wolf to her bed. There was no doubt in his mind that Cwmfen’s mind was tainted by such common thoughts, by such vulgar mindsets. It was a shame, really, that biology would not allow for a single gene to completely override other. There could have been so much perfection formed by the seed of his loins.


When the thing spoke, the sneer tugged in vain at his lips once more. It was pathetic the efforts of this thing. It was as if the thing thought that it could understand. Pathetic. "Mistaken yet again; I require not the reasons of some commoner." Perhaps the thing did not understand the speech of the elite, or perhaps the twist upon the words he had created—could he expect more of such a common mind? The tenor voice fell silent in the night, those cold, suave tones harsh for their emptiness. The black eyes pierced it. It could not command him, it could not move his lithic form that stood like the effigy of a long forgotten god. And perhaps the thing did not understand the nature of gods and spirits on earth. They did not come. It was the things of earth that crawled like those insects, like the virus in the body, that came to them, to him. But he neither required nor desired the thing before him.


The crow wolf was silent, allowing the thing to spew all that it could to enlighten him upon its ignorance. When silence finally filled the night, he exhaled again, that single sound of cold mockery. "And that is where your mistake lies. There is no such thing as choice, only the illusion of choice." Was it this mistake that made the virus continue? This pitiable thing could not see, could not see the flaw of its existence. And thus it was doomed to disappear, unable to make even a significant impact upon its environment. Those who did not understand could do nothing. And the thing could do nothing."You tire me," the tenor voice continued at last, those hollow sounds falling dully into the silence. The tendrils of shadow clung to his fur as the lithic creature of darkness finally rose, turning his back on her and moving as if to leave. She was so insignificant that he found no danger in her presence, knowing that he could and would defeat her.

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