[ Respond | Solira: The Ocean ]
Posted by Belisarius on February 13, 2009, 3:37 pm
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I will never be fire, he thinks, with a shudder than ripples through his chestnut coat, deadened and dulled by ash and smoke. Give me water, and the sound of the sea, for I love it already as if I had been born here.
His mane is singed and charred, his tail likewise. A healing burn stretches across his flank and another down his neck, and scratches cover his legs where he lunged desperately to get away from the all-consuming rage of the flames.
The smoke and the ash and the air that suddenly turned wrathful and smothering. It was a waking nightmare, and convulsively he shudders again as he plods slowly through the embers of what Solira was. There is a desperate aching loneliness about him, for arriving just before the fire he knows no one but his only solitary thoughts on the breeze, and all he knows of Solira is a brief shining moment before it was obliterated in flame.
He feels the anger stir within him, a deep and frightening rage that builds in his heart. The injustice of it all, the sorrow and the pain. He can only wonder what the others are going through. If they will want him now, or will they be too blinded by grief to allow an outsider into their world.
With effort, he shoves the anger back, trembling a little. Belisarius’ rage is as ravaging, untamable, and devastating as the fire itself. He fears it, and he fears the fearsome joy and elation it brings when it explodes gleefully into life, consuming him utterly.
He stands on the ruined sands, belly complaining of hunger, and feels very alone, and just a little bit afraid. But Belisarius does not let fear overtake him as anger does.
I am not afraid, he tells himself, and he believes it.
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