11-02-2007, 02:26 PM
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| Travelling was not just a case of tramping over miles and miles of simple land. Feeling dry or sweet grass beneath one's feet; opposing the perilous intentions of a lofty mountain; pushing aside vast twists of plants and willowy trees to cross a sweeping forest. Often it included simply facing the wild like that, walking through it -- travelling it, and learning it -- but because this was a ravaged land once inhabited by creatures other than the animals that ate and mated their way through life, there was more than just natural landscape. Vast, creaky structures were dug so deep into the ground, almost set into the cliffs or mounds on which they leant. Solemn, blood-metal bus stops were so overgrown that patches of verdant moss overcrowded the red and black rust. Structures like these were highly unnatural; but how natural they looked, set into the earth like they sprouted there like the plants around which they so desperately stood. Tamerlane's thoughts jumped from one philosophy to the next -- as did those of any intelligent, open-minded creature. It was early evening and the bleeding sunset turned his pale cream fur a deep and lustrous gold. In his tall Optime form, he sat on the wall of the overgrown graveyard, one foot drawn up beside him, his wrist resting on his knee as he turned his grey-black eyes over the place of death sprawled out before him. At its end was a chapel, still beautiful, he thought, when ravaged and ancient. It was unnatural to him that dead bodies should be marked so, and grieved over in such a formal way. Perhaps a stone to mark the place of burial was enough, but even then it was a little too lavish. What better, after all, than to be returned to the ground from which one was originally spawned? Tamerlane considered death simply not worth it if he were to be packed in a coffin and surrounded by concrete. |