Don't Let The Hurdle Fall [Goliath]

[Deleted]

The world was angry.

That was all he could think of, as he continued his plight of remaining above the ocean's harsh waves and unknown depths. It was cold, bitter, and cruel in its actions. Time and time again the waves caressed his tired body, lulling him towards the false safety hood of beneath the water's surface. Only for him to have to fight tooth and claw against it, legs kicking frantically as he propelled himself up and forward, towards an area of land he didn't know the existence of. Every now and then his legs or paw caught onto something akin to solid land, and he would scramble to gain traction, only to have it all swept away from him with a harsh wave of water.

It was a tiring game of life or death. And he was afraid of losing with his single goal in life unfulfilled. But it gave him hope, made him continue to paddle forwards and not give up. He had a job to do, one of great importance. He might not have known what it exactly was, but it had to do with something hidden in the ocean. It had to.

That was what the voices had said to him. And not once had they lied or mislead him. But following their orders had gotten him into this mess, and not long after did they stop talking to him entirely.

His swimming intensified, as much as it hurt. Because everything else was better then coming to terms with what had happened not long ago. Even if it did mean burning muscles, torn skin, and severe exhaustion.

With gasping breaths, he finally stumbled onto dry, solid land.

The island's shore was cold and grainy beneath his beaten frame, the combination of salt water and sand leaving his body aflame and somehow numb at the same time. Everything beneath his skin was on fire, sore and bruised. Yet, he was alive.

Endless hours of walking did not kill him, nor did the ocean with its angry, smothering waves. He felt immortal. But his self-proclaimed immortality did not leave him free of pain and anguish, and he finally allowed himself to show weakness. A deep groan mixed with a swallowed whimper, he shuddered and curled into himself.

The ocean's waves continued to nip at him, tugging at the tips of his fur, but he remained firmly rooted to the sandy ground, ignoring the icy grabbing in favour of rest. Everything hurt, he whined to himself. His chest burned, eyes stung, and wounds were aflame, but he was still somehow alive.

His impulsive decision to march across endless wasteland did not end in death, but a chance at a new life. It gave him a chance to reveal that he wasn't worthless, but instead loyal and determined. And perhaps this would break the silence of the voices inside of his head. Maybe this would let him reconnect to the only parental figures he ever had.

He was still lost as could be. Instead he was now inside of a foreign world with stranger beings, and without anything to guide him.

His breathing quickened at the thought of it. He was utterly alone, no more voices inside of his head to guide him. With another muted whine, he continued to collapse into himself. The ocean continued to bite at him, caressing waves trying to lull him back into their ominous depths, and combined with the frosted air, left him shivering and suddenly feeling small and insignificant.

It triggered something inside of him, left a sudden gaping hole deep within him. And it made his muscles contract, features and body language going tense and still. His already messed up breathing continued to speed up, going harsh and ragged. He couldn't breath, almost didn't want to.

So he curled up around himself as tight as possible, instead choosing to focus on slowing his breathing and ridding himself of whatever negative feelings clung to him.

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The water was unforgiving as ever, and the swim back to Ina’mos was made no easier by repetition. Each wave was an anguish in his enterprise towards the shoreline, every swell and fall a bane in his heavy strides. His head was pulled farther down until submerging into the sea’s mercy – and as he rose with an almighty gasp ensued by a choked growl, it was not his own massive paws that carried him – but the frenetic paws of a whelp caught in the quaking tide. The memory weighed down his heart, sinking him deeper.

Do not enter the sea, my son. You are too young for our God’s wrath.

His father’s words had scorned him. Challenged him. The pup knew nothing of the grisly depths in which he swam to, intent on defying his father’s contempt. And yet, with every innocent paddle forward came the ultimate lesson that he had learned all too early in life – mortality was a weakness he wanted no part in.

Spluttering, whimpering, the pup thrown about as a grain of sand swept up in the massive spumes of tide; and yet somehow, he had survived, as though the ordeal had simply been a test, or a grand show of power from the deity that his father so lionised. He had seen Fenrir’s might, and lived – and how he hated him for making the lesson one of sufferance rather than enlightenment.

He remembered the weightlessness as he was disgorged from the sea’s cold maw, crestfallen and limp upon the sands, and how it equated to uselessness in the pup’s heaving heart. He had failed. His strength would one day reach into the sky and pierce the sun, but not today. Today he was futile, rendered incompetent by the unforgiving waves as though they had sensed his youth on him like an open wound, and his father’s words burned his mind with a conceit that only he could possess.

Belial had warned him of the deep, and ignoring the threat, the pup waded out to test the wrath of the gods. That day, his innocence drowned.

Time caught up with him. Golaith stood on the shores of Ina’mos, eyes raw from the poisonous tide of his memories, and from the height that he stood at, he fathomed that it was the present day that he had returned to. The memory was no more than a fever dream, but it felt as though the terrified breaths from that day had perished in his lungs only moments ago. The futile pup no longer existed, baptised by the unpitying waters – and though the alpha wished nothing more than to sneer unforgivingly at his weaker youth, desolation was worn too deep in his expression to be soured by indignity.

His eyes narrowed in distraction – there was a whine in the air, and a body that did not belong. The mottled figure was hunched upon the sand, seemingly in a state of hopelessness. His shadow cast over the creature as he approached, too numbed by the memory to let his despondency pass for aggression at the trespasser.

His thoughts were infinite, as was the length of time it took for words to rattle from his chilled lungs, bleeding out into the air as a ghostly apparition of his unrest. His voice was not his own, but an echo of his father’s words leaving his lips; the same scold he had received when the colossal brute found his son in this exact position. The same water clung to them both, but only one shivered at its bite.

“Come, my son – before the cold catches you, and snares your bones in his teeth.”

He pressed on, knowing that if this wolf was no fool he would follow. Whether it was punishment or retribution he sought, he had come to the right place. 

It was all the same in the end, anyway.

TAGGED: @zechariah