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Description
He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

He stood taller than any man I’d ever seen, though his stature was not more than average. The white of his clothes and the white of his demeanour were of a matching breed. The fine cloth shouted of wealth; though while they looked soft to the touch, no doubt they would in truth be rough. Small finery glinted in reverence, bowing not out of malice or love, but something much more meaningful and complicated.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

The sword he carried looked lighter than was possible, though when he bore it through the air it was with the weight of matters unfathomable. The space through which the blade passed was burned as white as the weapon itself. Edges sharper and detailed beyond a mere man’s ability, severing one from earthly trappings. The black hilt burned with purpose and wound its engraved surface into your memory. The hand bearing so great a weapon was of equal merit, with assurances and oaths wrought with every change of grasp.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

A face of destiny, a face of history, and a face of future, though stoic as it was. High features and refinement of beauty beyond nature’s wildest imaginings. A silver mane and fine brows retaining such elegance as suiting to one so featured as this. The dark lips, never bending in appreciation or condescension of the world into which his spoken words must enter. Eyes of new steel, morning frost and polished stone, they never once held any joy or sadness as we men behold each day the sun rises.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

The black clouds and dark waves of thunder roll above and behind him, bearing down with flashes and loud booming threats. Because of his nature, because of nature, he must stand above us. He stands atop that hill, closer than any of us to the rage of the heavens. He stands there alone, and he stands unafraid. We respect him beyond question, but because of that, he will never blend in and be one of us. He seems never to care, never to feel, never to want. But he is still enough like us that I can see pain in those tired features. Being so different to normal men, he can never disappear into a crowd.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

As the wind blew past him and his silver countenance was buffeted by the gale, I was sure I saw a single tear as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Description
He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

He stood taller than any man I’d ever seen, though his stature was not more than average. The white of his clothes and the white of his demeanour were of a matching breed. The fine cloth shouted of wealth; though while they looked soft to the touch, no doubt they would in truth be rough. Small finery glinted in reverence, bowing not out of malice or love, but something much more meaningful and complicated.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

The sword he carried looked lighter than was possible, though when he bore it through the air it was with the weight of matters unfathomable. The space through which the blade passed was burned as white as the weapon itself. Edges sharper and detailed beyond a mere man’s ability, severing one from earthly trappings. The black hilt burned with purpose and wound its engraved surface into your memory. The hand bearing so great a weapon was of equal merit, with assurances and oaths wrought with every change of grasp.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

A face of destiny, a face of history, and a face of future, though stoic as it was. High features and refinement of beauty beyond nature’s wildest imaginings. A silver mane and fine brows retaining such elegance as suiting to one so featured as this. The dark lips, never bending in appreciation or condescension of the world into which his spoken words must enter. Eyes of new steel, morning frost and polished stone, they never once held any joy or sadness as we men behold each day the sun rises.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

The black clouds and dark waves of thunder roll above and behind him, bearing down with flashes and loud booming threats. Because of his nature, because of nature, he must stand above us. He stands atop that hill, closer than any of us to the rage of the heavens. He stands there alone, and he stands unafraid. We respect him beyond question, but because of that, he will never blend in and be one of us. He seems never to care, never to feel, never to want. But he is still enough like us that I can see pain in those tired features. Being so different to normal men, he can never disappear into a crowd.

He stood atop that hill, and he stood above us all. Standing there like that, he looked like a god.

As the wind blew past him and his silver countenance was buffeted by the gale, I was sure I saw a single tear as the first drops of rain began to fall.