Crimson

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ashamed of his actions, Pligal quickened his pace, each stride propelling him further away from his assault on one of his kin. Feeling the anger swell in him, he let the bust of angst directed toward the San cover him, encase him as each attack swallowed the eron, wholly. Relinquishing his emotions, uncaging them, Pligal unwittingly acted upon instinct. Through his many cycles upon this land, withstanding the neglect of his brethren, the cruelty of San Zilterrra, Pligal suffered silently, without question. Nothing upset him, to this level.

Thinking inwardly, inspecting his own mind, witnessing the light show is his bioluminescence, Pligal dissected his actions, perseverating upon his thoughts, he replayed the events after the Terra God crested into the corner of the land. While doing this, the ache returned to his thorax, the sharpness spreading, burning into his scales, pulling against the wound, opening him to the heavens, exposing him to the gods as he became raw, open.

Confronted with this torrent of sensations, Pligal slowed involuntarily, his body responding to the overwhelming sensation of his thoughts flowing feverishly. Returning his focus to his flight, he redoubled his speed. His thorax, lightly, expanding as he pushed himself. Past him, a plume of brilliant pink and purple dust highlighted his path. Feeling the tiny pebbles fly behind him, Pligal kicked harder. Projecting the beads onto the larger boulders, which littered the flat land. Soft tinks resounded as they burst upon the larger structures. Ignoring these as he allowed the rage to flow into his thighs, the angst to hold his hearts, the pain buffering his breathing.

Surrounded by a cliff face on all sides, the legionnaire training area sat near the acrid sea. Endless, as the legends say, unable to traverse, melting all who attempted such a feat. In this area, the recruits remained protected, safe from harm of their own kind, hidden from others who may wish to destroy them. Only one entrance or exit cut through the face of the cliff, far from Pligal's location.

Ignoring this wall, Pligal pushed forward. Before his body met the surface, Pligal squatted deeply before springing with all of his might, all of the animosity brewing in his soul. Readying his talons, he plunged them deep into the bedrock. Sinking deep into the stone, as if he dipped his talon into the precious Sangre, Pligal anchored himself before pulling himself higher. Lacerating the cliff face, with his other talon, he pulled, again. Repeating this gesture, he climbed high, maintaining his onyx orbs on the edge of the bluff. In mere moments, Pligal reached the top.

Finally pulling himself to the cliff edge, where his orbs remained free to view the plains, which hovered over the training fields. Blinking as aromas not previously experienced in the training field tortured his smelling holes, Pligal was met with a cacophony of fragrances. A cloud of dust swelled nearby as he noticed his clan, those who he resided with, recently, moving about their lives as the idea and reality of war did not linger upon their minds. His stomach aching, Pligal took in the scents of the savory stews of the plains. Those, who were not required for life, but became a luxury to his clan.

Permanent structures lingered around the area. Stone buildings, unlike that of the former seeress, sharp edges upon sharp edges. Thoughtless, replaceable, nothing of one's identity placed upon such structures nauseated him, each hovel identical to their neighbors. Witnessing the beauty of the seeress' home, the structure expressed what she wanted to convey to others, he could not respect the builders of these edifices as they sat askew upon one another. Lifting up to the heavens, they allowed for those who lived far above, the least of the clans, to force themselves upward until they found their home, exhausted, depleted, and impoverished.

A pale imitation of her gorgeous spiral, Pligal's pain returned as he caught his breath at the edge of the cliff. Taking in the nuances of scent, the maneuvers of his kind, he steadied himself before proceeding forward. His muscles started to ache from his trial. Throbbing light focused on the scales closest to the aching muscles. Exhaling deeply, he depleted everything in his thorax, all but the pain of loss.