Flowing around time as the ones of sight blindly follow the stars whims, stumbling as they go. Thus the feeling I've been given of the little lions approach of the cold cold world, as he seeks the warmth of understanding. All the while clinging to sanity with blunt claws.. Mewling pitisly as the rivers of time pass him by. Scrabbling to stay afoot among the riptide of blasting color. Swirling and dancing as it goes. Flashing color and shuddering flames speak of times longs sense past, and things to come. Sanity slowly crumbling to ash as chaos takes hold of all held dear. Rivers slow as they turn, twisting and twining around the little lions unseeing gaze. Glancing to and fro as the fog returns sight to mortal flesh.
