The archive of the forgotten

the better one ~ established

Thrjel wanders into the stables immediately choosing the black horse, and complimenting me that I figured out how to tack them up.
"Oh please! Every dimwit could figure it out!" I say and Eliana gives me a look that amuses me. I shake my head, my opinion about this girl changes faster than our headmasters mood. She mounts the white horse and I am left with the lovely auburn one, I follow their lead and we start the ride.
Thrjel leans towards me when I catch up with him as we ride out of the stables. "Is she wearing your trousers?"
I look at him. "Since when do you notice stuff like that? You wouldn't even notice if I shaved my head!"
"Don't be mean! Of course I would!"
"Really? Remember that time you thought another insubordinate was me? Just because he had relatively long black hair and was skinny enough?" I say with a chuckle.
"I only knew you for a few weeks!" He complains.
"Thirteen weeks to be exact, I could already have described every inch of your face by than you dimwit!"
"What does it matter? I am not a detective, I don't need to notice all the details." He whines.
"Then why do you notice this detail?" I ask.
"Because it looks good on her." He answers.
I look at him, the rhythm of the animals mirrored in his hair as it is lit by the crystalline effect of the longing sun, the rays sculpt the negatives of his face as they blind me, being too unrelenting for my obvious lack of beauty. His eyes are filled with emotions he does not control, his mind is racing faster than his heart, I can see that he does not understand and I pray he never will. Because once he does, the blue in his eyes will dim, his laugh will silence, and he will forever mourn the person he was. Or at least I will.
"Xad?" He asks.
"Yes?" I look at him, his eyes dwindling over the horizon, searching for nothing and only finding a sting reminding him that nettles used to be my favourite plant, the tears in his eyes putting out the pain that they might cause. Putting out the possible agony that looking at me will cause and eventually he just shakes his head and spurs his horse, pursuing the beautiful maiden that is riding in front of us, her hair reflecting the sunshine like the halo she doesn't deserve. Or maybe she does and I am blind to it. She looks perfect, she looks beautiful, she looks like him, they would be beautiful. She looks like a precious ring to be given away by someone who has stolen it, she looks like everything I will never be. Her hair swinging with every movement, not quite decided whether to be a curl or not. The golden ring on her finger shatters the merciful sun in millions of pieces, to be picked up by someone who admires them. I look at the two of them, their face both filled with a joy I envy, and uncomplicated reality of blissfulness, or ignorance, of happiness. What does he have that sets him apart? Why should I not have him if I do judge her?
He looks back at me, flashing his smile and with that flashing the very thing I cannot escape from. The me fondness of his being fills my heart, the mercy of his joy warm my thoughts. He has the heart, he has the bravery, to think further than the hate he was taught. But his gaze wanders back to her, and her incredible blue eyes. Her small hands, her apologetic features, her forgiving words, and pursed lips. She is beautiful, with a small smiles she can make you feel like you are turned upside down, as if a bird has picked you up, or as if you are in love. How I hate her for that, how could she be so perfect? And why can't I hate her?
I want everything that she has, the arrogance, the memories of when he was a kid, the same mother tongue. Because by god she has a sharp tongue.... I want the blonde hair that dances through the sun. The small hands that don't have the capability to be clumsy. The blue eyes that look straight through your soul with hidden judgement and visible admiration. The small nose that makes her look like she was a porcelain doll hand painted by a master. I want it all, I want the attention she asks for without uttering a word, I want to meet the gazes of wonder, of beauty, of love. I want to be easy to swallow.

I shake my head, confused by my own thoughts. I am far too proud to be a fianlynds to want to be like her. I am too proud, maybe that is what I have been doing wrong all these years. Maybe I have too much pride, it comes before the fall doesn't it? And what has my life been but a spectacular fall? I have flown too close to the sun, too daring on the wind, and too swift by the water.
Talking about the sun, it illuminates the valley beautifully. Showcasing wildflowers someone wouldn't dare dream of, hiding tiny worlds within them, or portals to others. Water streams as the red thread throughout a life, gifting it too all the creatures near it. Nurturing, caring, for things you could not fathom. How beautiful this life is, how wretched humans are.
We pass a rotting tree, half of it still standing upright, even bearing leaves more illuminating than most. The other half of it dead, destroyed, given up on. What has this tree seen throughout his years, what has he hated without being able to change it, a permanent resident to the damage of the people claiming this earth as ours. And still it has the kindness to offer it's hollow stump as a den, as a home, as a way to flee from all the change that he had been so afraid of, how does it keep itself upright? There must be a secret to this quiet defiance. I wish I possessed the strength to be quiet, but wisdom and silence comes with age and although I have lived three lifetimes in the span of one third of mine I do not have that quality, that depth that you can see in the black top of a lake before it pulls you down without mercy, explaining what you did wrong as the water confuses your lungs and tears away your eyes from everything you truly loved, to leave you with nothing more than a swollen rubbery impression of someone you might've been once.