Wine does not quench the thirst

[Tide1 4535]

A thirst wine couldn’t quench

 

It was bound to happen, sooner or later.

A hunter hunts until the hunt consumes him, or he is left to hunt until it becomes his life, his purpose, his grasp of reality and his undoing.

The night after a hunt is always joyous, smiles are shared in company with drinks. Wine, ale, mead – everyone has their cup of tea. The days of hunting continue, months, then years. The same drinks are shared for days, months, years and the same reality knits itself closer to your being. Oh the only light in the thick mist that is the search shines, the light of GOD of course. The lord shall be my savior.I

He is my savior.

In only GOD do i put my faith as he guides my wit, my blade and my feet. In the lord’s name we celebrate the hunt with drinks once blessed said to be. But it all get’s repetitive. I can see the pattern repeating day after day. It is the same.

It was bound to happen, a man of Blackwood after all. Known to loose the grasps of reality time to time, clutching at straws until they come back.

 

But today is a different day for little Hadvar. 

Wine didn’t quench the thirst of the hunt.

And the man was left with his stomach churning, his chest beating and his senses craving for something. Not pleasure, what the man sought was satisfaction, to satisfy the thirst, to quench the crimson churn once his head it had ravaged. 

”It does not work, why. Why will it not give off the same taste, the same feel.”

The chalice rolls on the chipped stone cold floor after having met the wall and it’s crimson contains seep between cracks and grey soil.

With Hadvar confused had the hunt found amusement? What even was it he was hunting, and why? Was it for the greater good, was it for God. Purpose lost to the scraping nails of time leaving gashes upon his back and front. 

A hunter hunts until the hunt consumes him, or he is left to hunt until it becomes his life.

This hunter most unfortunate had yet to die out on the hunt, met with the grim fate when his wine did not do it’s purpose. While death would be satisfactory, I do not want to die.

I am meant to live, for something greater.

 

God do you see me? I see you. My wine does not quench my thirst. The pale blood spilled in my years does not relinquish my ashen dirtied purpose for hunt.

God give me a clue.

I do not feel like I am living in the world i did.

Am I meant for more?

 

~Hadvar af Blackwood

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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