On the outskirts of the Wind Tribe, the tall and fair Tah laid in the shade of the treeline. It was midday, and the sun was high above the floating mountains, behind some thin, streaming clouds. 'Perfect conditions for a nap,' Varak concluded with a smirk. He closed his eyes for only a moment, before opening them once again. A strong gale passed over him, tearing through the long grass. The trees shuddered with the strength of the wind, and Varak, heedless of the warning, rolled onto his feet. He could feel the pull of the air towards the sky, begging him to come with it. Luckily for the wind, Varak could never say no to such enticement. He ran with the wind, spread his wings, and took to the sky, allowing the gale to carry him up and forward. He was not a particularly strong Tah, but what he lacked in raw strength, he made up for with grace in the air. Following the lead of the wind, he circled, twisted, looped, and turned to his heart's content. Anyone watching him could tell that the Tah was having the time of his life as he danced effortlessly with his favorite partner.
Eventually, the wind departed, leaving just a gentle zephyr in its wake. Varak took a deep breath and smiled, then threw his head behind him. Looping around, he folded his wings tightly against his sides, and began plummeting head-first towards the ground in a tight free fall. Perhaps some would have worried for his safety and apparent, casual disregard for his life, but he had done this dance many times before. He unfurled his wings at the last possible moment, catching the wind and slowing his descent. He beat his wings a couple times to further slow himself, and landed gently on his paws. "Ten out of ten," he remarked to himself with a chuckle. He turned back to where he had been laying before, and threw himself down on the plush grass. Perhaps now was time for that nap he had planned to take earlier. He reached out - forepaws forward, hind paws backward, and claws extended - stretching his lengthy body, and yawned.
Rolling onto his back once again, he gazed out at the mountains high in the sky with no roots to hold them down. He could not imagine being a B'alam who lacked the freedom to roam the skies, flying place to place not a care in the world. However, he knew that anchors came in many forms, not simply the lack of wings. He had seen enough of the world to have a general understanding of its workings. Many spoke of this Weaver character and his hand in the creation and destiny of all things, just as many spoke about being half of a whole - an incompleteness which affects every B'alam, that they are not a complete soul without their partner spirit.
"What nonsense," he huffed to himself with a slight smirk. Varak openly rejected this notion that someone - or something - else had planned his life for him, and more so that he was an incomplete spirit with his other half roaming about the world. He did not feel any sense of longing or inadequacy like he imagined he would if he was truly incomplete. Besides, who would want to be bound to another forever? 'Talk about roots,' he mused. No, Varak was perfectly content on his own without obligations to anything or anyone. He welcomed company if it came and went - or rather, if that company allowed him to come and go - like the wind. He was not callous, though, and knew that if duty came his way, he would oblige. He shuddered with the thought, praying that such things would not come to find him.
Again, he closed his eyes, only for his stomach to roar with discontent. Now, he frowned, casting a critical glare down at his belly, swishing his tail with agitation. "Man, all I wanna do is sleep, and yet there's always something." He slammed his head back into the grass, then rose to his feet. Flight was a taxing gift, for sure, demanding such levels of maintenance. Even so, Varak would not trade it for the world. His freedom meant everything to him.
Eventually, the wind departed, leaving just a gentle zephyr in its wake. Varak took a deep breath and smiled, then threw his head behind him. Looping around, he folded his wings tightly against his sides, and began plummeting head-first towards the ground in a tight free fall. Perhaps some would have worried for his safety and apparent, casual disregard for his life, but he had done this dance many times before. He unfurled his wings at the last possible moment, catching the wind and slowing his descent. He beat his wings a couple times to further slow himself, and landed gently on his paws. "Ten out of ten," he remarked to himself with a chuckle. He turned back to where he had been laying before, and threw himself down on the plush grass. Perhaps now was time for that nap he had planned to take earlier. He reached out - forepaws forward, hind paws backward, and claws extended - stretching his lengthy body, and yawned.
Rolling onto his back once again, he gazed out at the mountains high in the sky with no roots to hold them down. He could not imagine being a B'alam who lacked the freedom to roam the skies, flying place to place not a care in the world. However, he knew that anchors came in many forms, not simply the lack of wings. He had seen enough of the world to have a general understanding of its workings. Many spoke of this Weaver character and his hand in the creation and destiny of all things, just as many spoke about being half of a whole - an incompleteness which affects every B'alam, that they are not a complete soul without their partner spirit.
"What nonsense," he huffed to himself with a slight smirk. Varak openly rejected this notion that someone - or something - else had planned his life for him, and more so that he was an incomplete spirit with his other half roaming about the world. He did not feel any sense of longing or inadequacy like he imagined he would if he was truly incomplete. Besides, who would want to be bound to another forever? 'Talk about roots,' he mused. No, Varak was perfectly content on his own without obligations to anything or anyone. He welcomed company if it came and went - or rather, if that company allowed him to come and go - like the wind. He was not callous, though, and knew that if duty came his way, he would oblige. He shuddered with the thought, praying that such things would not come to find him.
Again, he closed his eyes, only for his stomach to roar with discontent. Now, he frowned, casting a critical glare down at his belly, swishing his tail with agitation. "Man, all I wanna do is sleep, and yet there's always something." He slammed his head back into the grass, then rose to his feet. Flight was a taxing gift, for sure, demanding such levels of maintenance. Even so, Varak would not trade it for the world. His freedom meant everything to him.
► Word Count | 714 ◄