![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
( we were once cinema gods in the night )
Dec. 20th, 2012 05:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
treachery[ Loki runs — through fields and meadow, through sweetgrass and sunlit wheat. He runs, and he does not cast his glance behind him, for he can hear Thor alighting upon his fleeing shadow, the promise of an embrace as inevitable as the rise of the sun, and the fall of the moon.
When the open fields give way to the fringe of surrounding woods, Loki scurries up into the boughs of a tree, dislodging a family of songbirds in the process. He had not known to climb with such limber skill when he first tumbled into Thor's arms, weeks and weeks ago, but the summer sun has scorched his winter-skin to a golden tan, his arms have become lean and graceful, and he moves with the elegant confidence of a creature accustomed to plenty.
Only when he has reached the topmost branches of the towering oak does Loki peer down from its heights. His lungs are full and aching with laughter, but still the music of it flows forth, as sweet and soft as the renewed murmurings of the wood;s birds and of summer-beasts.
He tosses a chain of gem-studded gold into the air — it had been the victor's recompense for a tournament meant to be held a fortnight hence, but Loki had seen it, grown enamored, and had thought to make a game of its theft. ]
How slow you are, Thor-king — !
[ crows the king of winter, perched upon his throne of wooded green. With another flick of his wrist, he sends the chain into the air again, catching it with one outstretched finger and spinning it lazily about. ]
You could have mined an ore of gold and beaten it into another chain in the time it has taken you to catch up to me.
When the open fields give way to the fringe of surrounding woods, Loki scurries up into the boughs of a tree, dislodging a family of songbirds in the process. He had not known to climb with such limber skill when he first tumbled into Thor's arms, weeks and weeks ago, but the summer sun has scorched his winter-skin to a golden tan, his arms have become lean and graceful, and he moves with the elegant confidence of a creature accustomed to plenty.
Only when he has reached the topmost branches of the towering oak does Loki peer down from its heights. His lungs are full and aching with laughter, but still the music of it flows forth, as sweet and soft as the renewed murmurings of the wood;s birds and of summer-beasts.
He tosses a chain of gem-studded gold into the air — it had been the victor's recompense for a tournament meant to be held a fortnight hence, but Loki had seen it, grown enamored, and had thought to make a game of its theft. ]
How slow you are, Thor-king — !
[ crows the king of winter, perched upon his throne of wooded green. With another flick of his wrist, he sends the chain into the air again, catching it with one outstretched finger and spinning it lazily about. ]
You could have mined an ore of gold and beaten it into another chain in the time it has taken you to catch up to me.
