A line. A blade. A loss. So the knight rides. Solitude scoured in these tales of silk and sanctuary.
And Storm sang drums along the tabled mountaintops. The honeyed dawn of light was always too sweet a friend for death, my love. It cries. For such things are already undone.
But still the horse begged him. Run me free. Whispering obsidian through another glacial pass. The armour, wept. The metal, sighed. The chains, mourned. So the knight rides. Fury and flame set cold in the questing, seeks not to heed the truth of dragons.
And Storm sliced the earth in two. Fear the light of darkness and even the mirrors will tremble. Rest. Sleep. Silence. Oblivion, upended in hooves and flesh.
Take the day! Take the day in stone and blister! The canter cries. For I cannot bear to look upon it. So the knight rides. And his passing leaves nothing for the rain but the stench of love, bloodied and written in dust.
©2017 Jac Forsyth
Image: Kay Nielsen, ‘But still the Horse begged him’ (1914)
Trying to balance editing, coffee and the jet lag of British Summer Time today, and all I have in my head is this image and an elemental beast of writing. I adore the work of Kay Nielsen. Illustration tells the story when all I can do is write it down.
*Image courtesy of pintrest.com