Rumors. . .tales. . .fantasies?
One of a friend being dead, yet he is alive. . .fleeing, hiding, running away. . .
Another bit of some twisted gossip of untruth told by a gargoyle with the mind of a slug, and manners to fit. . .
Lies, that is what comes from its mouth. . .always twisted truth, exaggerated assumptions which bear little mention of reason or honesty. . .
Why do we even listen to it, when nothing that comes from it's baited bad breath is real? Nothing which comes from that ophous ever rings true or sensible. . .so why listen to it when it is only going to cry wolf over and over simply to gain attention?
We shall ignore it from now on, as there is no reason to give weight to it's words. How is it that others have not noticed that it constantly spreads falsehoods about anything it see's or hears?
It is only a gargoyle after all. . .
Were it not skilled in fighting, it would have no use or value, would it?
Still, the silver tongue was supposedly dead by it's own hand; yet, it returns, so the rumor was false.
Much like what the gargoyle said of us, it was not what it heard, it was simply making things up. . .just like with silver tongue. . .perhaps. . .the gargoyle needs it's tongue removed?
Where is our other? She has been absent for some time now. . .has another abandoned us. . .perhaps. . .he was right?
Are we fated to be abandoned by all friends and lovers. . .this. . .spawn of Beshaba. . .is that what we are?
Was he right?
Are we to end up alone. . .?
Allow the rain to fall away, dancing on the leaves and prancing every day. . .
Trickling rivers of of salty red. . .
Running, hiding, vanishing. . .or dead?
Is it accidents, or a twist of fate. . .
A life one is living, none able to relate. . .
Yet along this lofty shore, shall we walk, gazing fondly down upon our reflection in these tepid waters. . .
Is it the reality?
Or just another forgotten dream drifting on the edges of a nightmare?
Are we alone or with ones we might call friend or lover?
And what of the rain turning cold, this steam freezing over?
Does time halt in place as well when these seasons constantly change. . .
Better or worse. . .it is unknown. . .
Is it fate. . .or just the winds soft moan?