Do you have faith?
{{A reply to this
The lyrics at the bottom were written for these two by Serenai}}
Do you have faith?
“I have no faith,”
“I have faith in no one!”
“Who turned on who?”
who turned on who
who turned
who
He is alone for now. The being has left.
he stars are out now, white hot burning flames, hearts and wishes, sins and scars. It is time to go now.
His head turns, into a position which suggests a breaking of his own neck, yet it doesn’t, no, the gold of his horn slides along torn flesh, mending with a cold heat as it goes, fur, like new grass sprouts from skin the colour of snow.
A three toed foot digs into the mud and the mire, then another. He stands, and as he stands, he grows, for he is a wild thing and not of this plane, ever changing, a corporeal beast the size of a shire horse, with far more litheness to his being.
Thunder cracks, in the distance, yes, lightning flashes, but he knows this, this is no rain; this is a storm rising.
He moves, and his movement is as the wind, fluid and cutting.
The beasts meet, black and white and gold, tossing their heads and nipping at the nothingness, they are so beautiful, these wild creatures, he can feel it creeping about him, the ice crawling between his toes, over his body, the steam, for her body crackles with flame.
Her steps are the thunder; the brush of her horn across the sky, the lightning.
And he, the black beast, he is the hail, it beats down without mercy, the strangest weather.
“They don’t know better”
“They will learn”
“In time”
“Now”
and even as they speak, they move, for he is racing, racing across the plains, a wild and wounded god. If that is what they are; it is what they call themselves, Gods.
She will not stop him by force, she cannot, and she knows this. It is all she can do to temper the oncoming blizzard, the fury in his gaze.
Be loved Be loved Be loved.
They see little of the beast that ravages them, the swinging neck, the flailing horn before their frail forms are cleaved in twain. It’s all they need to see, their prayers won’t help them now, for they are in the hills, these little rounded mountains, and these things are true;
To him, belonged the hills and the mountains, the swamps and the sea, the rot and the fungal growth.The moon and the stars and the night.
To her, belonged the flatland plains and the serene forests, the rivers and the streams, the healing and the new-growth. Fluffy clouds and sunlight.
All that was not his, was hers, and all that was not hers, was his.
He can still smell the gunpowder on the man’s hands; his own blood.
Thou Shalt Not Blaspheme the Gods
The hail bears down, and the beast stills, slowly, when all is said and done, he paces, three toed feet and hind-hooves of gold sloshing through the water and the ice and the blood; the offal and the butchered beings.
She follows behind him, no longer aflame.
They retreat, for there is nothing here any more to be had.
And still, in the back of his mind, he wonders; who was that
the strange being, by the pond.
Perhaps he’ll find out himself.
These things he knows;
He is his own faith.
Here comes the ice just storming down, all frost, shrewdness, and ire
And followed close on golden hooves was a white beast borne of fire
Together, satisfied by the death that they had wrought
Back to whence they came, with love the beasts did trot
And smiling sweetly, they turned back just as they headed out the door
Just in time to see the sky full of rain begin to pour
