Older Gods 13
Love is a restless, hungry beast. It paces to and fro, all bristling fur, slavering teeth, seeking a chance to stretch and grow. It will not sit still and patient, present and unchanging, for even when it seeks stability, resisting change, it rails against the entropy and the ceaseless tread of years.
Love spurred us, beyond the joy we found within ourselves, the exquisite agony from long borne chains released, the freedom and the function of our new wrought angel forms. Beyond even the gratitude we felt for our lost Gods, the pity and the empathy; was the desire for ourselves, to leave a mark, permanence, a record of our love. Perhaps love knows itself to be a stymied and half made thing until there is a vessel into which it can be poured, and so it strains and fights and spits until a child is born.
As the world around us warmed we once again could fly, yet we stopped, and frequently to spread the old Gods’ word. Until we came upon the shore, the edge of that vast ocean. Hand in hand we skimmed the waves like eternal skipping stones, delighting in the coolness and the heat soaked in our bones. When the movement of the waves stilled into mirror flatness we coursed up into the thinner air and speared into the darkness.
Twice made by Gods our bodies held their blue green form and shape, they plunged beyond the reach of sun, through waters cold then growing warm as we approached the shame wrenched yearning God.
“You have been waiting centuries; at long last we have come.”
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