we have heart; open

[tiilyr]

His feet pressed against the ground in the simplest, most typical manner. There was nothing extraordinary about anything he did. The greater portion of his body was wrapped in some sort of cloth, thick fabric covering his body in preparation from the oncoming night and the winds that swept across the large and open plains. They reminded him of the deserts he used to walk. They were hot during the day, ravaged by the beating sun; and scathed by the cold winds at night, not a single tree standing proud enough to put up a real fight.

He stood, utterly silent, staring up at the sky from the slit for his eyes. The rest of his head and face was wrapped in a long piece of fabric, just like the desert rats to keep the sand and grime off of him when the winds whipped up, which they were bound to do. The heavens were clear for his observing, the sky a dark blue and the stars twinkling against it. He couldn’t help a laugh, shaking his head some as he began to walk again. Amazing how people could think there was nothing outside the country, much less beyond their own planet.

He was alone with his thoughts for the millionth time. Gabriel had spent thousands of years without much of anyone, only interluding into lives now and then and living like the drifter he was. He’d sat behind the thrones of kings and whispered in the ears of dragons… And now he was standing on the middle of a field with a bag over his shoulders, utterly along and useless to the world. He had insight and powers few would ever see or hear… Yet here was, walking like a thief through lands that screamed of murder. He swore he could feel the lost souls begging him to take them to the afterlife… like they could still sense that he’d been the angel of death.

He considered himself to be alone, not spotting anyone for leagues around him. It was a safe moment. Or so he thought. The winds were yet to come, leaving it unrealistically still on the plains. He slowly began to unwrap the layers from around him until he was left standing in breeches and his tunic. He folded everything, placing it all in a nice pile next to his bag. His tunic was pulled off over his head just as easily and joined the small pile. He let a deep breath fill his lungs and his eyes close. A shiver ran down his spine as he felt the familiar attachments appear at his back, massive feathered wings shifting and aching to move. Hiding them was painful. He would walk with an ache between his shoulder blades, like his wings had been severed. He only felt whole with them rightfully on his back. As always, his skin seemed like it had a dull glow from the inside.

It wasn’t long before he was taking running steps and leaping into the air, massive wings unfurling and catching the air. A powerful flap had him propelled upward and soon his was soaring in the air he’d come to love. He was careful not to spend too long in the skies. After he felt stretched and his spirit was lifted, he returned to the ground, landing gracefully on his feet while the wind captured in his wingers filled the air around him with dust and dirt. It was then that he felt eyes on him.

[Kite]

*Edan had been upon this slight rise for a day now, and it still held its sway. It always did. He always stops here for a day, maybe two. It held him in a stupor every time he traveled through these plains, these desolate wastelands that echoed with pain and lack of life.

He hated every second of it. The worst day of his life had started on this very rise.

He had woke early that morning, and his unit had lined up here. He was the commanding officer of the company, and was told to hold this line by his father. He agreed and set his men up here. They were an important part of the line and he knew it.

They held the line.

They were fighting for hours, the men falling around him and the reserves flowing in. The battle was deadly, the elves superior to the humans in almost every way, but they were halted here by pure brute force. That was always their downfall. They were better trained, but humans bred like rats and used it to their advantage. He used it to his advantage. The battle raged on around him, but he was calm and he controlled the chaos with the skilled application of blade. Never with hate, with love of his fellow man and even his enemy. Never with anger, with the clearheadedness of serenity.

He prevailed. They prevailed.

The elves pulled back, and they cleaned their weapons, their armor. Edan went to the command center after the fighting ceased, leaving his men in the hands of the NCOs left breathing. He wanted to celebrate with his father as he always did. He wanted to find him and hear about orders later.

He did not find what he was looking for.

He found another man in control. He found a lesser officer in control, one who took great perverse pleasure in telling him that mighty General Valacian had fallen, and that Edan's unit would no longer recieve "preferential treatment."

The next thing he could clearly remember was the next day, when orders told them to lead the assault on the elves who they had fought the day before. He spoke to those around him, and heard stories of a rage that had never touched Edan before or since that moment. Of actions that Edan knew he could not atone for. Of a time in his life that he has worked tirelessly to never have reoccur.

It was the end of the first day, and he was hungry now. The hunger and thirst of his body shook him from his memories as they always did, and he went to his pack, grabbing two large pieces of dried meat and his water skin. The meat stuck in his throat, but was nourishing. The water held no satisfaction, but quenched the dryness of his throat. He then stood and drew his weapon, an simple but superior quality longsword, and began his practice.

He was on his way to a tournament in Aroughs, one that he had not participated in for many years, and this practice was essential. He worked out the stiffness of staring into his memories. He worked out the cold of his muscles. He worked to harmonize his body. He was in total control now.

He worked for an hour, and the sun set when he called off his work, his body lined in a thin coat of sweat, but he felt better. He put his sword into his sheath and moved back to his small camp, where he pulled on a heavy robe to help with the wind and cold of night on the plains. However, as he finished pulling it on and looked out over the plain and sky, he saw a large figure with monstrously large wings and slightly glowed skin descend from the skies and kick up dirt. The figure seemed a man as he neared the ground and landed, although he had never seen a man with wings. He probably would have missed it were the "man" any further away, and he suspected that he had missed the "man"s take off.

He walked slowly towards the man, his eyes curious at this sight, a sight he had not seen in his 45 years, and he stayed relatively calm. He was cautious, but he made sure to be seen as he approached. He was quiet, preferring the winged man to speak first in this. He, honestly, wasn't sure what to say in this. He just tried to be as non-threatening as possible in his approach, and see what he could learn of the "man".*