Time Has No Friends
Destyn shot up with a shriek and his wings spread behind him, wide and stiff as he froze and took in the surroundings of the living world. After a moment, he registered where he was- Not back in the midst of the savage conflict that orphaned him, but sitting in a nest of silken sheets in a borrowed bed. His eyes darted around the well-appointed room he'd been afforded by a generous Avialae benefactor, and he tried to steady his quaking breaths.
He'd been told that time could heal all wounds, but it was hard to imagine when the grief was as ever-present and as potent as that which afflicted him. He didn't know anyone who'd suffered a loss like his and, though he appreciated their efforts to console him, he didn't really believe their maxims applied to his situation. His entire clan had been slaughtered, and it was his fault. He'd brought the wrath of the humans upon them through his misdeeds, and he was the only survivor of their retaliation. His mother had often warned him of the scorn many humans bore their race, but all the humans he'd met had been friendly to him. At least until they very much weren't.
These thoughts flooded his waking mind, and possessed the dreamscape he inhabited on the rare occasions he waxed exhausted enough that sleep claimed him. Since that wretched day, sleep was rare and offered no solace from the invasive memories and guilty musings that assailed him from all sides. Everything was a reminder. He was utterly wracked with it.
Destyn swung his legs over the bed and winced at a sting from the broken one. The Kalzaserns had performed a surgery and done their best to tend to his wound and a new splint had been bound to his shin with fresh bandages that morning. The physical pain was just another reminder. He ran a hand through his honey-hued hair and closed his fingers as he realized it was damp with sweat. Grimacing, he reached for the crutch leaning at his bedside and used it to push himself to his bare feet, before lurching toward the huge window overlooking the so-called 'jewel of the Northlands'.
It was strange, he thought. Destyn had never spent time in a proper city before, and it was awe-inspiring to see the breadth of Kalzasi from high above in the Cloudhaven District where he was provisionally housed, whilst his body healed and his mind malingered. Even knowing how many people dwelt below and, indeed, all around him, Destyn felt so detached from the world. So consummately alone. He glanced to a potted fern that hung nigh of the window framing the skyline. The plants were so quiet here, where the people were loud. Like birds with clipped wings, they were managed and manicured. They decorated as much space as they were afforded, but they didn't thrive as they would in nature.
All at once, Destyn was overcome with an urge to be somewhere more grounded in the life he knew- Even if that life had been irrevocably destroyed. He shifted his weight away from the crutch and onto his unwounded leg, crouching slightly and leaping forward out the window. He fell for a few metres and, though something in him suggested that he might just let himself drop and join his kinspeople in oblivion, reflex set his wings to pumping and he took flight.
He listened to the winds and aimlessly flitted lower- away from the vasty estates of Cloudhaven, and down toward where the commonfolk dwelt. He hovered over rooftops and kept his ears perked, until he heard the music of green things and followed where the winds wanted. Ere long, he noticed a familiar structure looming in the moonlight- It was where he'd been taken after the airship landed, so that his wounds could be treated more thoroughly. He hadn't thought much of the gardens in the foreground of the hospital, then, because he hadn't realised how aberrant that much greenery was in the midst of a city, but now he was drawn thence.
He fluttered down toward a fountain- a tranquil corner of the eponymous gardens that adorned the hospital grounds. The loose fabric of his robes whipped with the beating of his wings and the whoosh of the winds, as he lowered onto the weight of his good leg, and lowered the crutch to touch the ground before his other foot felt the cool tingle of dewy grass. His wings folded behind him and were lost in the folds of his satiny robes, as he lurched toward the fountain and took a seat at its edge, sighing lightly. He wasn't comfortable, but he was less uncomfortable than he'd been in weeks. He shut his eyes and listened to the plaintive garden's woes, finally sharing a moment with those who knew as much of grief and loss as he.
10 Searing, 121
He'd been told that time could heal all wounds, but it was hard to imagine when the grief was as ever-present and as potent as that which afflicted him. He didn't know anyone who'd suffered a loss like his and, though he appreciated their efforts to console him, he didn't really believe their maxims applied to his situation. His entire clan had been slaughtered, and it was his fault. He'd brought the wrath of the humans upon them through his misdeeds, and he was the only survivor of their retaliation. His mother had often warned him of the scorn many humans bore their race, but all the humans he'd met had been friendly to him. At least until they very much weren't.
These thoughts flooded his waking mind, and possessed the dreamscape he inhabited on the rare occasions he waxed exhausted enough that sleep claimed him. Since that wretched day, sleep was rare and offered no solace from the invasive memories and guilty musings that assailed him from all sides. Everything was a reminder. He was utterly wracked with it.
Destyn swung his legs over the bed and winced at a sting from the broken one. The Kalzaserns had performed a surgery and done their best to tend to his wound and a new splint had been bound to his shin with fresh bandages that morning. The physical pain was just another reminder. He ran a hand through his honey-hued hair and closed his fingers as he realized it was damp with sweat. Grimacing, he reached for the crutch leaning at his bedside and used it to push himself to his bare feet, before lurching toward the huge window overlooking the so-called 'jewel of the Northlands'.
It was strange, he thought. Destyn had never spent time in a proper city before, and it was awe-inspiring to see the breadth of Kalzasi from high above in the Cloudhaven District where he was provisionally housed, whilst his body healed and his mind malingered. Even knowing how many people dwelt below and, indeed, all around him, Destyn felt so detached from the world. So consummately alone. He glanced to a potted fern that hung nigh of the window framing the skyline. The plants were so quiet here, where the people were loud. Like birds with clipped wings, they were managed and manicured. They decorated as much space as they were afforded, but they didn't thrive as they would in nature.
All at once, Destyn was overcome with an urge to be somewhere more grounded in the life he knew- Even if that life had been irrevocably destroyed. He shifted his weight away from the crutch and onto his unwounded leg, crouching slightly and leaping forward out the window. He fell for a few metres and, though something in him suggested that he might just let himself drop and join his kinspeople in oblivion, reflex set his wings to pumping and he took flight.
He listened to the winds and aimlessly flitted lower- away from the vasty estates of Cloudhaven, and down toward where the commonfolk dwelt. He hovered over rooftops and kept his ears perked, until he heard the music of green things and followed where the winds wanted. Ere long, he noticed a familiar structure looming in the moonlight- It was where he'd been taken after the airship landed, so that his wounds could be treated more thoroughly. He hadn't thought much of the gardens in the foreground of the hospital, then, because he hadn't realised how aberrant that much greenery was in the midst of a city, but now he was drawn thence.
He fluttered down toward a fountain- a tranquil corner of the eponymous gardens that adorned the hospital grounds. The loose fabric of his robes whipped with the beating of his wings and the whoosh of the winds, as he lowered onto the weight of his good leg, and lowered the crutch to touch the ground before his other foot felt the cool tingle of dewy grass. His wings folded behind him and were lost in the folds of his satiny robes, as he lurched toward the fountain and took a seat at its edge, sighing lightly. He wasn't comfortable, but he was less uncomfortable than he'd been in weeks. He shut his eyes and listened to the plaintive garden's woes, finally sharing a moment with those who knew as much of grief and loss as he.
