Post by Kaili on Aug 14, 2016 21:03:25 GMT
The beast is lost.
That is to be expected. At least a century, or so it believes, has ticked by. The sand of the hourglass has flowed continiously during the creature’s rest and he has woken up to a nightmare. The horse cannot race the iron beast even if it wanted to, even if it was mythical. This is a time and period of advancement that is beyond. Paved highways with lines to guide man and not his beast of burden go for what seems like the entire world. So, the creature had followed not sure what is left or right or what is up and down.
Primal instincts have taken over and dictate his path. He does not remember which way is which except that it exists and always has. This landscape is familiar yet completely changed and he and it do not understand it, do not question it, simply survive it. None of this makes any sense but it doesn’t have to. What has to make sense is nothing. Hooves just need to continue their stretch, continue to lift and go down and continue a carry.
Rain has not dropped in a while and he is grateful for it seems like one great storm after another has swept through this country. His location is unknown to him, every idea is gone, except that he exists. Some days he is pasted to the roads and others he wanders, deeper into the wilderness he can find for the vast cities scare him for they would scare any animal that wanders too close.
Patchy grass on adventure had greeted him. He does not know how far he is from the paved path he follows. Even a creature of his stature has to eat. The white nozzle of the gray horse goes to the ground. The grass here is dead and will most likely burn away but he still consumes mindlessly as beast are notorious for. For an hour, he consumes, wandering only now and then and flicking the black tail away from the flies.
And that is when he eats what he most likely should have not.
Of course, had he felt it sooner he might have stopped. Had he been more akin with his magic and less like nothing more than a regular horse he might not have had this problem. Purple flowers catch his eyes and remind him of alfalfa and he indulges. It doesn’t taste the same but it still tastes so like a glutton he consumes and he consumes more. By the time he has started to process it hits him all at once as his vision is blurred and he may or may not be slightly high.
He should stop but once a glutton starts he cannot stop. By the time he has finished the area his vision is double and he cannot see. He stumbles forward and the horse, dirtied and gross, trips over itself. At some point his tongue droops out and he would drool if he had any water in him. If this is how to kill a god, it’s a good fucking joke that leaves him so high he is nearly dying.
Muscles are shaking by an hour and he finds more and he eats. it. A man is smarter than this. A god is not affected by this. A horse is dumb and eats more and more. No idea where he is, the creatures wanders, further and further. He weaves side to side. Finally hooves come to touch asphalt that should burn but he cannot feel anything right now. He has lost sensation. He cannot see so he continues further and further as if he is on some holy adventure.
He deserves this. There is a logical and thinking mind buried somewhere beneath the livestock’s fur and it knows what it is going on. This can’t kill it. It can’t but he knows he is risking his life he has just been restored. The joints of the beast quiver together and from the left lane to the right lane he weaves.
How fucking dumb was he? To eat and to continue? To let gluttony control this?
Control is a delicate thing and the horse, high out of its mind, collapses on the middle of the highway, eyes wide and dilated, breathing in and out.
That is to be expected. At least a century, or so it believes, has ticked by. The sand of the hourglass has flowed continiously during the creature’s rest and he has woken up to a nightmare. The horse cannot race the iron beast even if it wanted to, even if it was mythical. This is a time and period of advancement that is beyond. Paved highways with lines to guide man and not his beast of burden go for what seems like the entire world. So, the creature had followed not sure what is left or right or what is up and down.
Primal instincts have taken over and dictate his path. He does not remember which way is which except that it exists and always has. This landscape is familiar yet completely changed and he and it do not understand it, do not question it, simply survive it. None of this makes any sense but it doesn’t have to. What has to make sense is nothing. Hooves just need to continue their stretch, continue to lift and go down and continue a carry.
Rain has not dropped in a while and he is grateful for it seems like one great storm after another has swept through this country. His location is unknown to him, every idea is gone, except that he exists. Some days he is pasted to the roads and others he wanders, deeper into the wilderness he can find for the vast cities scare him for they would scare any animal that wanders too close.
Patchy grass on adventure had greeted him. He does not know how far he is from the paved path he follows. Even a creature of his stature has to eat. The white nozzle of the gray horse goes to the ground. The grass here is dead and will most likely burn away but he still consumes mindlessly as beast are notorious for. For an hour, he consumes, wandering only now and then and flicking the black tail away from the flies.
And that is when he eats what he most likely should have not.
Of course, had he felt it sooner he might have stopped. Had he been more akin with his magic and less like nothing more than a regular horse he might not have had this problem. Purple flowers catch his eyes and remind him of alfalfa and he indulges. It doesn’t taste the same but it still tastes so like a glutton he consumes and he consumes more. By the time he has started to process it hits him all at once as his vision is blurred and he may or may not be slightly high.
He should stop but once a glutton starts he cannot stop. By the time he has finished the area his vision is double and he cannot see. He stumbles forward and the horse, dirtied and gross, trips over itself. At some point his tongue droops out and he would drool if he had any water in him. If this is how to kill a god, it’s a good fucking joke that leaves him so high he is nearly dying.
Muscles are shaking by an hour and he finds more and he eats. it. A man is smarter than this. A god is not affected by this. A horse is dumb and eats more and more. No idea where he is, the creatures wanders, further and further. He weaves side to side. Finally hooves come to touch asphalt that should burn but he cannot feel anything right now. He has lost sensation. He cannot see so he continues further and further as if he is on some holy adventure.
He deserves this. There is a logical and thinking mind buried somewhere beneath the livestock’s fur and it knows what it is going on. This can’t kill it. It can’t but he knows he is risking his life he has just been restored. The joints of the beast quiver together and from the left lane to the right lane he weaves.
How fucking dumb was he? To eat and to continue? To let gluttony control this?
Control is a delicate thing and the horse, high out of its mind, collapses on the middle of the highway, eyes wide and dilated, breathing in and out.