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Clan Holdings
Created on 2004-11-11 19:52:20 (#5114180), last updated 2005-05-25
4 comments received, 31 comments posted
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12 Journal Entries, 0 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | Alexandra Amnamáre |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 09-28 |
| Location: | Fairfax, Virginia, United States |
| Website: | Alexandra Amnamáre's Portfolio |
BioThe wind howls across the arid landscape, tearing the small, sharp grains of sand from their resting place and flinging them across the dunes. Overhead, fierce lightning rends the air, which roars in protest.
Amber eyes are briefly visible with each flash --
-- No, they ARE each flash, scorching the land with their searing gaze. The thunder isn't the scream of the air, but the wild laughter of a crazed spirit. The wind is his hand, holding tight to that which is his. The sand is his body; awareness fills this desert.
Abruptly, the terrible storm ceases. The spirit's eyes shut, their deadly flash veiled once more. His voice dies away, like the last remnants of a half-forgotten melody. His hold on his land slackens as he withdraws his hand. The sand comes to rest on the barren ground.
It is that magic moment when the storm has passed, yet its spell still holds across the lands. Before it passes, a quick-eyed individual might see the now-still sand suddenly jump into the air, before drawing in on itself to form the shape of a man...
As he passes by, he murmurs a soft word of greeting, brushing your arm gently with his fingers. You respond in kind, and as he continues on his journey, you laugh at yourself for believing the old stories, the ones about a wild demon of the desert who spends his quieter days as a wanderer. They are just silly stories, told to pass the time.
As if he can read your mind, the man turns back, and you see his eyes. They are a brilliant amber, and you could have sworn that you saw them flash...
Amber eyes are briefly visible with each flash --
-- No, they ARE each flash, scorching the land with their searing gaze. The thunder isn't the scream of the air, but the wild laughter of a crazed spirit. The wind is his hand, holding tight to that which is his. The sand is his body; awareness fills this desert.
Abruptly, the terrible storm ceases. The spirit's eyes shut, their deadly flash veiled once more. His voice dies away, like the last remnants of a half-forgotten melody. His hold on his land slackens as he withdraws his hand. The sand comes to rest on the barren ground.
It is that magic moment when the storm has passed, yet its spell still holds across the lands. Before it passes, a quick-eyed individual might see the now-still sand suddenly jump into the air, before drawing in on itself to form the shape of a man...
As he passes by, he murmurs a soft word of greeting, brushing your arm gently with his fingers. You respond in kind, and as he continues on his journey, you laugh at yourself for believing the old stories, the ones about a wild demon of the desert who spends his quieter days as a wanderer. They are just silly stories, told to pass the time.
As if he can read your mind, the man turns back, and you see his eyes. They are a brilliant amber, and you could have sworn that you saw them flash...
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