Scout & Winston, Destined Travelers
I dwell in the midst of my home-village, seeking the fabled foamy tides I've long dreamt of in my kitly sleep.
"Dancing thunder and promises of seafoam fill your cochlea, beckon to its song and entertain the fields of Lavishia."
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Moleskin won't do for my thoughts and demeanors. Wailordskin, more like, though the thought makes me jolt. I'd never own such a cruelty of binding—I am distracting myself.
I take kindly to this nighttime breeze. As I age, I discover just how favorably I take to the wind. Windiness uplifts my mood in a way I don't have words for. It is a feeling that exists without knowing a proper meaning—sometimes that's very refreshing, not attaching a label or reason to a feeling or experience. It just is.
It so happens that Winston enjoys the wind, maybe even more than I do, the way he runs through it like a command. Some birds that take flight cut the air with their wing spindles, quite literally taking the air from the wind. What a concept, stripping a thing of its very being.
I'm sure Winston can do this to the wind, ten fold compared to the birds. My Raikou of the wind and thunder, bellowing courage and knighthood wherever he races.
The windy nights often accompany the legly prose of kricketot. I wonder of far off legends as I seep into their melody. Winston is snoring softly as we lay in the lush grass, tall and soft like the ocean. I'm laying against his side writing my thoughts and feelings out beneath the sky drenched in stars. Tonight, the stars are blanketed by wispy, dark blue clouds.
I think of myself as a dreamer but I'm plain too. I don't wish to suddenly sprout wings and fly to the endless stars above. But I want to romanticize them, call them affectionate names, and gather tales of them beneath my tongue to whip out for later.
I want to sit crosslegged in the grass beside good company and tell them the stories I create about the stars. Planted firmly on the Earth, making the stars what I want them to be.
Winston just rolled over and I lost my pencil for a second. Big kitty cat who does as he pleases. Anyways, the wind is ruffling these pages gently and it's a great comfort to me. It's as if the crinkles are giggles. Suddenly, my eyes are getting droopy.
I set out for Wisteria Province tomorrow morning, I must get some rest. Snuggled up safely in Winston's yellow fur, his breathing deep and that of a lumbering beast. What a comfort on this windy, starry night. What an exceptional night.