Post by Araxis on May 4, 2004 22:50:29 GMT -5
Longshanks wandered the grassy flats of the Atlum Fields half-heartedly. Climbing a small knoll, he poised, wings ready for flight, knees bent slightly for the leap that would surrender him to the sky; but he just stood there, gazing up into the nightsky, the black clouds coasting silently, slowly by, the stars intermittently masked and revealed by the dark formations. Cethyn was dead . . . Arcadia was dead . . . all strings left to him from his previous life were cut, sliced by the cruel sword of fate. He'd been a Sentinel for the Imperium, but also the Warden of Arcadia, and now that his beloved world was gone . . .
He had planned originally to return to Arcadia after slaying the Cython, but now there was nothing to return to. Arcadia was gone, burned out of the universe by her own nuclear fires. And there was something--someone, rather--here to anchor him to this alien world. Mellira . . . the thought of her pretty face brought a smile to the Orion's lips.
These gently rolling plains, broken only by the occasional hills the like of which he perched upon, were where Longshanks had first met Mellira, indeed, were the first place he had beat wing upon this planet. He could yet see, with his keen grey eyes, the patch of burned grass that a tiny imp had burned that first day, threatening Mellira, who had lain injured in the emerald grass, her knee acting up from some wound recieved in battle. He had save her, carried her swiftly from the fire, had caught the little devil that had sparked the flames . . . Now he was back, hoping, perhaps vainly, that he might find her here once more, dark hair flowing lightly in the soft wind that swept across the fields, making the grass into a veritable sea of gentle, verdant waves. He could yet feel the warmth of her in his arms, the scent of her sending endorphins careening joyfully through his brain . . .
He had planned originally to return to Arcadia after slaying the Cython, but now there was nothing to return to. Arcadia was gone, burned out of the universe by her own nuclear fires. And there was something--someone, rather--here to anchor him to this alien world. Mellira . . . the thought of her pretty face brought a smile to the Orion's lips.
These gently rolling plains, broken only by the occasional hills the like of which he perched upon, were where Longshanks had first met Mellira, indeed, were the first place he had beat wing upon this planet. He could yet see, with his keen grey eyes, the patch of burned grass that a tiny imp had burned that first day, threatening Mellira, who had lain injured in the emerald grass, her knee acting up from some wound recieved in battle. He had save her, carried her swiftly from the fire, had caught the little devil that had sparked the flames . . . Now he was back, hoping, perhaps vainly, that he might find her here once more, dark hair flowing lightly in the soft wind that swept across the fields, making the grass into a veritable sea of gentle, verdant waves. He could yet feel the warmth of her in his arms, the scent of her sending endorphins careening joyfully through his brain . . .