Cairidan,
Lion of Prideless
Played by dusk

He had that same, empty dream. Weightlessness, unfettered to the ground as he was unfettered to the sky; suspended in something half-holy. Below the rise of his paws he could see grasses tickling between his toes, but he could not feel the harshness of the earth below his pads. The line of the forest was dark and foreboding, unable to see beyond the first line of trees except for an uneasy darkness, a quiet yet looming presence lingering just beyond it. Behind him a field lay open, sprawling for miles and meeting the night well beyond the horizon. The air was cold, and silent, and stale. The sky was empty, devoid of her stars and her moon, yet there lingered a gentle white light as if it were there, illuminating the tops of the trees in a heavenly glow. He tried to take a step forward, but he could not move. The forest trembled in his presence; the roots, gnarled and snarling, began to move.

He woke up.

His nose was nearly touching the water. Tired, blue-yellow eyes flitted open, a wetness on his chin slicked down by the pebbles and sand beneath his jaw and chest. When he lifted his head, the mane around his neck had clumped together from lakewater and dust. He lay undisturbed and alone beyond the gentle lapping of waves against the short, a reflection of a star-full sky mirrored in the Mosmori as it sprawled before him. A familiar frustration welled in his chest, but where once he might have lashed out in anger, he instead let it settle like tempered steel. His claws flexed against the soft earth underfoot, his gaze casting downward, watching water droplets fall from his mane onto the tips of his toes. He had not realized he had fallen asleep while watching the way the auroras danced across the lake; and he could tell only be the pruneness of his lips just how long he had dozed off for.

The night remained quiet and still and empty, and Cairidan sat, struggling to wipe the sheepishness from his eyes.

Art by AleTie