moor hooves :: surreality's kimeti

[surreality]

MOOR HOOVES

badges of matope inhabitants will be here if i ever get around to making them

 

[surreality]

Haze After Dusk
haze

Patient | Thoughtful | Apathetic | Stubborn


Hues of red, orange, and gold vibrantly dot the clouded horizon as the sun says its farewell to the late day. The colors flicker, sometimes changing from one another or adding new tones to their brief canvas in the sky, before at last they begin to dim as night engulfs them, hungrily.

He finds himself unaffected by the beauty of the sunset. With a flick of a tail, he turns and makes his way back to a place where he knows deep inside him is, unmistakably, his home; even though he's never been there. His eyes don't recognize the path he's taking, but his hooves feel as though they've tread through this murk thousands of times before.

The night thickens, and wraps itself around the marshes in a form of a thin, ethereal fog that barely floats above the ground and swirls around every organism in its wake. The kimeti stops, a chill running up his spine as he warily watches the mist envelop around him.

It entangles itself around his legs, his back, and then finally reachers over his head and he's completely inside; he can just barely feel it, like a delicate web brushing up against his body. He can hardly see what's in front of his muzzle, but that doesn't matter: the mist suddenly feels comfortable, perplexing, and inviting all at once, and he needed more. His eyes roll to the back of his skull as he takes a deep breath, a scent so full of earth and life and heavy with moisture that it completely intoxicates his well-being. He takes a few steps forward and suddenly he's flying, ever so gracefully through the air as though he were a fish in water.

He feels free for the first time in his long-lived life. There is nothing more beautiful, more ecstatic and more entrancing than the mist, the night, and this new feeling of freedom. Forget his territory, forget the sunset, forget the marsh itself: this fog, this haze is his new home now, and he'll gallop and float and live forever in its gentle embrace.

And just as suddenly as the night had dropped in, the veil is lifted, and the mist vanishes without a trace. It hits him like a cold winter wind, a force so strong it knocks him to the ground, and he lays on the earth, eyes wide with shock.

A breeze caresses its way through the marsh as dusk makes way for the early morning twilight's hour. The sky is clear, crisp, and dark in the cycle of the new moon.

 

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