Flame in Stone

January 20, 2016 § Leave a comment

A Word Portrait.

It is not the sunlight creature that one might expect from muscles shifting beneath loose dark-tawny fur, from amber staring and twitching tail. Here is instead wary seeking, shadow prowling through the thick rustling of ferns beneath the sun-shield of tree canopies.

It is potential. The potential of force, the steel-springs under pressure sort of potential, of claws just sheathed, of sated felinity lounging. Potential at rest, coiled, waiting. Waiting and wary, wary and watching. Looking before the leap, the bite, the creeping-forward stalk with nervous tail-agitation.

There are no edges to it, all liquid muscle beneath fur-velvet, whisker-twitch. There is force, power, but it is a crushing force, not a slashing one–not saber, not rapier, not blade-edge. It is bottled fire in an earthen vessel, fire-in-earth, tiger’s eye or apache’s tear, the jungle flame living in a stone.

It is warmth, burning like embers and hearth-fire. Not raging bonfire, not leaping wildfire, not sunwarmth–but the fire that burns low and hot and deceptively quiet. There is no coldness to it, only that beneath-the-surface heat.


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