Post by Vox on May 12, 2008 20:04:07 GMT -6
meeting for all current members of the Alethea, I think we have two, and all those who wish to be part of the Pride, to simplify matters and answer any unasked question ^^
The stately gentleman walked with grace, pacing through the dry, brittle land with care, but not caution. He had no fear about him, only confidence, and composedness. There was no reason to fear, no logical explanation for being repulsed by the dryness of this time of the year. This rotation had it's time, as the wet one did, and it had its advantages, same as did the moister time. Calm, relaxed, regal, and generally well-kempt, the lion did not breathe slowly, nor did he gasp for air. He breathed in and out naturally, imperceptibly and yet...One could not help but be taken in by the rumbling rhythm of his soft purr, it seemed to be everywhere at once. He was not a beast of epic proportions, and there were certainly those who could best him in breadth and height, but he had a presence, and almost seemed mightier than other men, by his stance. It was upright, elegant, and hinting at a sharper side to him than at first the glowing gold coat would reveal. The large, velvety paws were loose, and soft, but compact and muscular, tipped by dark nails that did not show. The strides were long, and a slight swinging to his hips, up and down, gently from side to side as well, gave him an animal's casual saunter. Slender, almost, he had not been eating as well as he once had, but his stomach was satisfied. He had learned it was more about how the mind contemplated the hunger, than how hungry you actually were, that mattered when the drought came and the famine followed. Besides, he was better suited for scanty desert food, prickly, harsh, and formidable, than the fat fancies of the South. Only the strongest could survive the scrublands...Maybe that was why so few came. It had not surprised him that they had disbanded, nothing really surprised him anymore, and nothing really excited him anymore. One might feel bad for the poor, sad, old lion he was, but it would be pity better invested in a lord or lady who was in pain. He knew several, and he saved his grand compassion just for them. Saved the best of dances for the ladies who needed them, and then retired to his corner, to laugh and make merry with the false friends. He would sit their with them, as the laughter died down and they drank, and he would watch them, and they would ignore him as the night went on...They didn't understand him but...He loved them just the same. They were all equal to him, despite their blindness in this sense, for they all had the power of innocence, even the scoundrels among them, and he loved them for their strengths, just as he accepted them for their weaknesses. His Pride, his brothers and sisters, sons and daughters; they were his family, and they had been united. Even now, as they stood separated and far apart, he heard their hearts beat as he did his own. He could...Feel that some would return, perhaps only one or two and many would not. They had braved much to escape the dry, inhabitable arid seasons, and those with families would not hope to plough through it again, only to return to a place that would again drive them out. He watched them trip and slide over their worries and troubles as a man watches ants fight over a crumb of bread, holding a sandwich in his hand. Curious, intrigued, by these petty wars, was he, and pitying at the smallness of it all. For them it was real, for them it was life, harsh and desolate. For him...Oh how he wished he could not see as he saw...It was a sad, broken cycle that he did not seem to be a part of. Even the tears he shed over the poor, poor little creatures and their genuine misfortunes became troubles for their tortured bodies to withstand, became puddles at their feet, and raindrops on their neck. Few found joy in such small vexations and ever fewer; our gentleman is no doubt part of such a category as the latter, found deep peace in gazing down at his own reflection in the puddle, or at the trickle of a drop of liquid down his downy back. There were those who seemed to understand the misery of it all, and those were the ones who had been in the midst of it. It was these beings, the benighted souls that understood the Truth.
It was time for those who would come back from their travels to him, to return to their old Pride. The King's tail swished from side to side slowly, the darker tufted tip twitching as if to a metronome, and held in a hook behind his muscular hindquarters. He strode purposefully forward, none could mistake his meaning. This was his land, his very own piece of heaven, in which he could teach those who requested guidance, shelter those who needed protection, and welcome those who were in want of a home. With every encounter he learned more about life, the world and the beings around him. With every conversation, he realised just how separate he had grown from the main rive, and how the small trickling stream that was he, had grown and shrunk and changed as the seasons ticked by. Every changing, never stopping, always moving, yet...Perfectly still, and always the same, in essence. This was the Truth. Had this year, like all the others, added another layer onto our good sir? He pondered such a thought with interest, his wise, pensive face with its all-encompassing smile taking a slightly less vague turn. Pink tongue pushed its way out of his dark mouth and he licked some intrusive whiskers aside, his bristling, yet soft, moustache complying to his touch ever so gently. The strong forelegs felt the power of the earth underneath him as he leaned into it and rubbed his entire length across a tall boulder that he had seen coming for some time. Craggy, rough, and satisfying his itch, the rock made his smile turn a little grateful, and gaze about him with those deep, gray eyes. Magnificent pools of wisdom, teeming with life, like a river full of rockfish, or a Deep Ocean rippling with waves, and twinkling with good nature were those eyes. He had a heart, a very big one, and he had his vices, though they were not as evident as other men's at times, nor so predictable. He was not, predictable. It seemed to run in the family, though he and his sister had it the worst, and it had made her suffer. Though not he, so much. Perhaps it was the unusual mix of qualities in him that made the Lord so peaceful, undisturbed. He was alone, psychologically more than otherwise, but he did not have the searching, expectant, eager look in his face of one who is lonely. He had been alone for a very long time, and had been a Hermit for some of that period. A soft, blissful life without worry, interaction or real amusement. He was his own amusement, his own form of happiness, joy, and he allowed what was within, both his beauty and his disfigurements, to confront him. It was what She had never understood. Never quite grasped when he tried to tell Her. She was beautiful because of her flaws, not in spite of them. There was beauty in something that is old, broken, and fetid. He treasured that which had once, or never, been something worth looking at, for it's grace now that it had gone to seed. It was not a weakness of his, to have a singular attachment. He did not feel he had to improve on himself in that sense, though he always strove to better himself in others. No...The King smiled when he thought of Her and how She seemed to hate him so much. They would have to meet again sometime, but for now, for now, it was time for something else. Time for something that would unite that which had fallen, to bring together the shattered pieces of That One Time. The strange tree which he sat under offered more shade than any other that had survived the driest season they had seen in years, and it was strange for that. Strange, unique, different...They were all the same, but it was one's perception that changed how it looked to The Observer's eyes. Truth saw a tree. It was not beautiful, it was not strange as I have said it is, and it was not distinguished. It was neither ugly, nor common, nor ordinary. To him, it simply was. The lion was not empty-headed, or stupid, or not particularly witty. Quite the contrary, he was an articulate man who was capable of great mental feats. But he did not see the sense in judging everything he saw.
Did not think it was a worthy use of anybody's time to tell them that the Sky Is Blue or the Sun Is Beautiful And Big And Golden. They were magnificent, they dwarfed his own beauty by comparison to their greatness and their majestic radiance, and he could understand that by looking himself, and he knew others could as well. When he looked at the sun, as he did now, he did not think about how long it was until Sundown, or how long he had been walking to this spot. He simply...Stared at it, strong eyes and noble face lighting up in a handsome smile. It was good. It was very good, and he needn't say anymore, he only need look at it and know. He knew, now, that this day was good; that the sky which watched him, and the sun which heated him, and the tree which shaded him, and the rock which relieved him, and everything about it all was good. There was bad; a glare hung in the air, which would have caused him to squint as he looked around, the sandy dirt was hot and would have burned his pads soon because the sun had heated it too much, the tree would have been of no use when the sun moved some more, and the rock had mussed his coat a little and he would have needed to clean it. Those who paid real attention to these little details would have perhaps detested Eiroka, the home of the Aletheans and their King. It was not because Truth was of the desert, from the Very Very Far Eastern Coasts, that he did not mind this place for all its inconveniences. You will notice I have put 'would have' instead of 'would', for he knew better than to let these things hurt him. Those who did were little boys and little girls who hurt their feet on the sand, who whined when they were no longer given shade, or had to clean their coat and such. Notice how always a parent is nearby to hush them, to tell them that it wasn't always as bad as all that, and that everything could be solved with a little effort. Truth was a Little Effort. And as he opened his wide mouth, stretching it wider and wider until one might think it would burst, he chuffed heavily and roared. Bellowed such a mighty roar that it might be heard for miles and miles around, and breathing deep once, he hummed slightly, gave a chuffing bark again, and continued the roar with greater force. It flowed from his deep chest naturally, he was taller and broader in that area than many could boast of, though still relatively slender and fleet of foot and body. Power, strength, and might emanated from the noise, reassuring those who were friends, and intimidating others who dared to tread on the land of the King. It was all very well, he had given his roar, and it had lasted for a good minute or so in coming, and much longer in going (for despite Eiroka's flatness, it caught the far gone canyons and reverberated there and back)...But there was still the question of how many would return to him. How many were so loyal as to meet him half way, for he had travelled far from the Eastern Lands of his father King Adrian where he had visited, and come to nearly the border of his lands, which had grown smaller as he relinquished his hold on them without larger numbers. Before the dry season had struck, they had been the largest, strongest, and most prosperous of all the Prides! And now, their numbers were reduced to one, himself...And possibly a family member, Oedipus or Rhian, and their children. But he knew, and he hoped, that new subjects would come, new friends, new family, new life would bless this earth again. And he waited, tail still, body still except for his great lungs at work in their slow way, and eyes moving carefully over the land, waiting...Ever waiting.
The stately gentleman walked with grace, pacing through the dry, brittle land with care, but not caution. He had no fear about him, only confidence, and composedness. There was no reason to fear, no logical explanation for being repulsed by the dryness of this time of the year. This rotation had it's time, as the wet one did, and it had its advantages, same as did the moister time. Calm, relaxed, regal, and generally well-kempt, the lion did not breathe slowly, nor did he gasp for air. He breathed in and out naturally, imperceptibly and yet...One could not help but be taken in by the rumbling rhythm of his soft purr, it seemed to be everywhere at once. He was not a beast of epic proportions, and there were certainly those who could best him in breadth and height, but he had a presence, and almost seemed mightier than other men, by his stance. It was upright, elegant, and hinting at a sharper side to him than at first the glowing gold coat would reveal. The large, velvety paws were loose, and soft, but compact and muscular, tipped by dark nails that did not show. The strides were long, and a slight swinging to his hips, up and down, gently from side to side as well, gave him an animal's casual saunter. Slender, almost, he had not been eating as well as he once had, but his stomach was satisfied. He had learned it was more about how the mind contemplated the hunger, than how hungry you actually were, that mattered when the drought came and the famine followed. Besides, he was better suited for scanty desert food, prickly, harsh, and formidable, than the fat fancies of the South. Only the strongest could survive the scrublands...Maybe that was why so few came. It had not surprised him that they had disbanded, nothing really surprised him anymore, and nothing really excited him anymore. One might feel bad for the poor, sad, old lion he was, but it would be pity better invested in a lord or lady who was in pain. He knew several, and he saved his grand compassion just for them. Saved the best of dances for the ladies who needed them, and then retired to his corner, to laugh and make merry with the false friends. He would sit their with them, as the laughter died down and they drank, and he would watch them, and they would ignore him as the night went on...They didn't understand him but...He loved them just the same. They were all equal to him, despite their blindness in this sense, for they all had the power of innocence, even the scoundrels among them, and he loved them for their strengths, just as he accepted them for their weaknesses. His Pride, his brothers and sisters, sons and daughters; they were his family, and they had been united. Even now, as they stood separated and far apart, he heard their hearts beat as he did his own. He could...Feel that some would return, perhaps only one or two and many would not. They had braved much to escape the dry, inhabitable arid seasons, and those with families would not hope to plough through it again, only to return to a place that would again drive them out. He watched them trip and slide over their worries and troubles as a man watches ants fight over a crumb of bread, holding a sandwich in his hand. Curious, intrigued, by these petty wars, was he, and pitying at the smallness of it all. For them it was real, for them it was life, harsh and desolate. For him...Oh how he wished he could not see as he saw...It was a sad, broken cycle that he did not seem to be a part of. Even the tears he shed over the poor, poor little creatures and their genuine misfortunes became troubles for their tortured bodies to withstand, became puddles at their feet, and raindrops on their neck. Few found joy in such small vexations and ever fewer; our gentleman is no doubt part of such a category as the latter, found deep peace in gazing down at his own reflection in the puddle, or at the trickle of a drop of liquid down his downy back. There were those who seemed to understand the misery of it all, and those were the ones who had been in the midst of it. It was these beings, the benighted souls that understood the Truth.
It was time for those who would come back from their travels to him, to return to their old Pride. The King's tail swished from side to side slowly, the darker tufted tip twitching as if to a metronome, and held in a hook behind his muscular hindquarters. He strode purposefully forward, none could mistake his meaning. This was his land, his very own piece of heaven, in which he could teach those who requested guidance, shelter those who needed protection, and welcome those who were in want of a home. With every encounter he learned more about life, the world and the beings around him. With every conversation, he realised just how separate he had grown from the main rive, and how the small trickling stream that was he, had grown and shrunk and changed as the seasons ticked by. Every changing, never stopping, always moving, yet...Perfectly still, and always the same, in essence. This was the Truth. Had this year, like all the others, added another layer onto our good sir? He pondered such a thought with interest, his wise, pensive face with its all-encompassing smile taking a slightly less vague turn. Pink tongue pushed its way out of his dark mouth and he licked some intrusive whiskers aside, his bristling, yet soft, moustache complying to his touch ever so gently. The strong forelegs felt the power of the earth underneath him as he leaned into it and rubbed his entire length across a tall boulder that he had seen coming for some time. Craggy, rough, and satisfying his itch, the rock made his smile turn a little grateful, and gaze about him with those deep, gray eyes. Magnificent pools of wisdom, teeming with life, like a river full of rockfish, or a Deep Ocean rippling with waves, and twinkling with good nature were those eyes. He had a heart, a very big one, and he had his vices, though they were not as evident as other men's at times, nor so predictable. He was not, predictable. It seemed to run in the family, though he and his sister had it the worst, and it had made her suffer. Though not he, so much. Perhaps it was the unusual mix of qualities in him that made the Lord so peaceful, undisturbed. He was alone, psychologically more than otherwise, but he did not have the searching, expectant, eager look in his face of one who is lonely. He had been alone for a very long time, and had been a Hermit for some of that period. A soft, blissful life without worry, interaction or real amusement. He was his own amusement, his own form of happiness, joy, and he allowed what was within, both his beauty and his disfigurements, to confront him. It was what She had never understood. Never quite grasped when he tried to tell Her. She was beautiful because of her flaws, not in spite of them. There was beauty in something that is old, broken, and fetid. He treasured that which had once, or never, been something worth looking at, for it's grace now that it had gone to seed. It was not a weakness of his, to have a singular attachment. He did not feel he had to improve on himself in that sense, though he always strove to better himself in others. No...The King smiled when he thought of Her and how She seemed to hate him so much. They would have to meet again sometime, but for now, for now, it was time for something else. Time for something that would unite that which had fallen, to bring together the shattered pieces of That One Time. The strange tree which he sat under offered more shade than any other that had survived the driest season they had seen in years, and it was strange for that. Strange, unique, different...They were all the same, but it was one's perception that changed how it looked to The Observer's eyes. Truth saw a tree. It was not beautiful, it was not strange as I have said it is, and it was not distinguished. It was neither ugly, nor common, nor ordinary. To him, it simply was. The lion was not empty-headed, or stupid, or not particularly witty. Quite the contrary, he was an articulate man who was capable of great mental feats. But he did not see the sense in judging everything he saw.
Did not think it was a worthy use of anybody's time to tell them that the Sky Is Blue or the Sun Is Beautiful And Big And Golden. They were magnificent, they dwarfed his own beauty by comparison to their greatness and their majestic radiance, and he could understand that by looking himself, and he knew others could as well. When he looked at the sun, as he did now, he did not think about how long it was until Sundown, or how long he had been walking to this spot. He simply...Stared at it, strong eyes and noble face lighting up in a handsome smile. It was good. It was very good, and he needn't say anymore, he only need look at it and know. He knew, now, that this day was good; that the sky which watched him, and the sun which heated him, and the tree which shaded him, and the rock which relieved him, and everything about it all was good. There was bad; a glare hung in the air, which would have caused him to squint as he looked around, the sandy dirt was hot and would have burned his pads soon because the sun had heated it too much, the tree would have been of no use when the sun moved some more, and the rock had mussed his coat a little and he would have needed to clean it. Those who paid real attention to these little details would have perhaps detested Eiroka, the home of the Aletheans and their King. It was not because Truth was of the desert, from the Very Very Far Eastern Coasts, that he did not mind this place for all its inconveniences. You will notice I have put 'would have' instead of 'would', for he knew better than to let these things hurt him. Those who did were little boys and little girls who hurt their feet on the sand, who whined when they were no longer given shade, or had to clean their coat and such. Notice how always a parent is nearby to hush them, to tell them that it wasn't always as bad as all that, and that everything could be solved with a little effort. Truth was a Little Effort. And as he opened his wide mouth, stretching it wider and wider until one might think it would burst, he chuffed heavily and roared. Bellowed such a mighty roar that it might be heard for miles and miles around, and breathing deep once, he hummed slightly, gave a chuffing bark again, and continued the roar with greater force. It flowed from his deep chest naturally, he was taller and broader in that area than many could boast of, though still relatively slender and fleet of foot and body. Power, strength, and might emanated from the noise, reassuring those who were friends, and intimidating others who dared to tread on the land of the King. It was all very well, he had given his roar, and it had lasted for a good minute or so in coming, and much longer in going (for despite Eiroka's flatness, it caught the far gone canyons and reverberated there and back)...But there was still the question of how many would return to him. How many were so loyal as to meet him half way, for he had travelled far from the Eastern Lands of his father King Adrian where he had visited, and come to nearly the border of his lands, which had grown smaller as he relinquished his hold on them without larger numbers. Before the dry season had struck, they had been the largest, strongest, and most prosperous of all the Prides! And now, their numbers were reduced to one, himself...And possibly a family member, Oedipus or Rhian, and their children. But he knew, and he hoped, that new subjects would come, new friends, new family, new life would bless this earth again. And he waited, tail still, body still except for his great lungs at work in their slow way, and eyes moving carefully over the land, waiting...Ever waiting.