09-10-2008, 12:23 AM
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Something felt like it had changed. It wasn’t anything great or remarkable, but a subtle taste in his mouth and weight in his bones. That had started with the dreams, and as he began to see less and less of himself in them. Soon he was able to control the dreams, and to change his own body in them. At points, he would become airborne, and at other points, he would see nothing yet see everything, and hear strange voices that made no sense. The sky and the ground would become the same color and he would walk in a daze, but feeling as if it was safe. He was safe within himself, and as long as he trusted that other presence that had not yet become an individual to him—no, that was a feeling, an impulse, an instinct.
Once upon a time, he had known it as The Line. His mother had known it but a truer name, but she was long dead. The blonde coughed and shook the drizzle from his fur, no longer fully feeling the sickness but knowing he was not yet well. All around the smell of sickness and disease was fading with the rain, replaced by cold water and the gusting wind that came and went. One of these breezes brought a familiar scent to him, and Ahren followed it as if in a trance. It was only then, as he approached and got close enough to see Laruku that a dire feeling twisted in his gut. He stopped dead in his tracks.
Something felt like it had changed. It wasn’t anything great or remarkable, but a subtle taste in his mouth and weight in his bones. That had started with the dreams, and as he began to see less and less of himself in them. Soon he was able to control the dreams, and to change his own body in them. At points, he would become airborne, and at other points, he would see nothing yet see everything, and hear strange voices that made no sense. The sky and the ground would become the same color and he would walk in a daze, but feeling as if it was safe. He was safe within himself, and as long as he trusted that other presence that had not yet become an individual to him—no, that was a feeling, an impulse, an instinct.
Once upon a time, he had known it as The Line. His mother had known it but a truer name, but she was long dead. The blonde coughed and shook the drizzle from his fur, no longer fully feeling the sickness but knowing he was not yet well. All around the smell of sickness and disease was fading with the rain, replaced by cold water and the gusting wind that came and went. One of these breezes brought a familiar scent to him, and Ahren followed it as if in a trance. It was only then, as he approached and got close enough to see Laruku that a dire feeling twisted in his gut. He stopped dead in his tracks.