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1 day ago
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The rain fell heavily over the dark lands of San’danil. Trees from the thicket surrounding the grounds swayed frantically, their manic dance puppeteered by a turbulent wind. With the moon smothered by the relentless clouds and the angry roar of the ocean crashing into the shore, it was a place of torrid agony. This was a place scarred. This was a place where blood had been spilled and life had been lost, a place that had been subject to such extremes of life and death that it raged from the tumult of it all.
It was appropriate that Phaerys chose that particular evening to return.
The moon found him sporadically as he traveled up the winding path towards his estate, as if the light sought kin in his snowy face. He was alone and silent, bowed over his steed as if in solemn prayer. Melancholy claimed the solitary rider soundly, persisting through the wild winds buffeting him.
He traveled to the shore, passing the darkened manor until he felt the spray of sea water upon his skin. Dismounting, his steed remained by his side, calm in the fury of the storm.
In the gloom the silhouette of an ancient, ocean-claimed estate could be seen. The uppermost spires rose vainly above the surface, trying to reclaim opulence now choked by moss and barnacles. Phaerys looked to the water before it. The water was black, it’s depths abyssal.
The rain had soaked through his fine garments and the wind raged about him. Even the bite in the air and sting of the violent rain did not alter his pensive affect.
He looked to the sky. Ellie, he thought to himself, watching the moon as the wind churned about him. His own sisters remained in the sea, not the sky. As he stood he mused to himself, wondering if they knew the moon well, reflecting her on calm days, rising to meet her with their tide as she moved towards the earth. It was a silly thought, one that made him want to laugh and cry from the stupidity and pain of such a ludicrous romanticism. They were dead. They were cold, now laying victims of the unpredictable wiles of currents and waves.
The storm was unceasing, the wind howled and writhed in violent throes. Being at the heart of turmoil, at the edge where land, sea and wind battled tirelessly, bestowed a calm upon the aching scholar. While he was not customarily one that subscribed to the concepts of fate and destiny, it felt less-than coincidental that he should find himself at San’danil on such a tempestuous evening. Seeing his disquiet personified was catharsis.
Maybe he was a fool. Maybe the pain he had and would still endure was atonement. Standing there, stolid as wind, rain and the fleeting light of the moon kissed him, he came to a decision. It was a choice he had found himself returning to again and again. He would not flee, he would not try and escape. He would endure, digging his claws and fangs into the glimpse of happiness he had found. He would not relent until it was claimed or forcibly torn from him.
Moments after arriving the rider returned to his steed, turning and riding back from whence he came.

Joseph Mallord William Turner, Fishermen at Sea (detail)
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Jonathan Smith
Trees in Fog, California 
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1 day ago
6,475 notes




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Photo by S.J.Bennett
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Eilean Donan Castle, Scotland.35mm.
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2 days ago
819 notes