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 Post subject: Dust
PostPosted: Fri Jan 04, 2013 8:29 pm 
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Joined: Sat Jul 22, 2006 5:57 am
Posts: 358
Location: New York
Perfectly still.

Everything was so perfectly still, like a reflection in standing water- only disturbed ever so slightly by the gentle winters breeze. A bright moon loomed over Mulgor, Mu'sha watching the rolling fields of frosted grass and occasionally blinded by the thin whispy clouds that lingered like smudges of oil paint upon a black canvas. And upon a mesa, looking back, was a small lodging of log and plank and leather. Mighty in its supports, yet simple in its architecture, it stood there as if to mimic the great eye of the Earthmother who lingered above the distant horizon of bluffs. And standing in the door-frame, a gray furred tauren. He was young, and showed signs of strength, but also carried a weight to him of both a figurative and literal kind. Amber eyes rested half-lidded above the beginnings of bags, looking into the valley and plains that did shine with the light of heavenly body above. This was his home, it had been for two years- and likely many more before that, even if he failed to acknowledge it. A great many other places he had called home, beyond the seas and this world itself, but none really deserved the title as much as this place.
The wind rose again, his mane swaying as the grass below. It was sharp with the cold of the season, but brisk and refreshing as he inhaled it deeply. He wore no garment above his waist, only adorned in a pair of trousers, and yet the chill did not seem to affect him. No shudder or shake, nor sniffle or sneeze did come. It was as if it was the warm and welcoming embrace of a spring breeze rather than the deep exhale of Father Winters snores.

For a long while he stood there, watching as the moon retreated beneath its distant horizon and the stars making their way so slowly across the inky blackness. Time, time, time. Such a valuable thing that he once valued so dearly had become so over abundant. There was a time that even then in the dead of night he would be out, living a life that thrived in absence of the sun. But now? No time. No need. He didn't want those things any longer, didn't need them. He abandoned them two years ago, finding instead a new life in a small bundle out in a refuge from the wilderness. A life that stirred in her bed as another breeze made its way past him and into his home. A new life that he wouldn't- and couldn't- neglect.
With a turn of his heel, he let loose the heavy flap of leather that covered the doorway and retreated inside to a crackling fire in a mighty room that comprised of the entire lower level. It was a strange mix of things in this home, their shadows dancing on the walls. Traditional things- like rugs, beads and clay bowls- to things that did not belong amongst such rustic housing- like whirling gadgets and crystals alive with arcana. And directly across from the tauren, beyond the fire and adorned upon the wall most opposite, was a mighty suit of armor made of leather and metal, colored red and marked with glyphs of his people. And besides that, a rifle on one side and hand canon the other. The empty sockets of the helm stared, and the tauren stared right back. For a long time he simply watched the mirror image of his past self, shadows flickering from the flame. Slowly, he finds himself slowly approaching, navigating around the pit and cushions upon the floor. And the closer he came, the fresher the memories came. Memories of adventure, of horror, and danger and excitement. Memories of love and memories of loss. All the lights and darks playing across its metal face in the shadows of the flame. All of it lingered, clouding his mind and consuming his thought- only to be shredded away by a sudden and sharp "Yap!"

Glancing downwards revealed the culprit- an aging pug curled up upon a rug at the foot of the armor, like the faithful watchdog he was. Bulging amber eyes stared back up, a tiny curled tail wagging enthusiasticly as the two regarded each other. The tauren smiled, the beast yawned, and the brief transaction finished as he let his head fall once more upon the floor, leaving his master to turn his attention once more to the armor; but the nostalgia gone. It did linger, like shattered ice, but melting. Melting and slipping away in the cracks of time, reminding him that it was naught but a reflection. Reaching out, he places his hand upon the helm, leaving it there in silence as he considers the cold metal. Familiar, but alien. And as he removed his hand, a three fingered hand print remained. Smirking, the tauren only regarded it a moment before turning away and heading towards a ramp against another wall- leading up to a large bed and awaiting bodies beneath sheets.
And with no sense of irony or regret, Nishk Winterspear once more turned his back on his old life to the new one awaiting him above.

Grant me the serenity to accept that which I cannot change, the courage to change that which I can, and wisdom to know the difference.

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