The wind was cool against him, pressing softly on him like a lover's gentle embrace. The wind wasn't strong, but it knocked him around all the same, and a part of him loved it, let it; it was his only joy as a sentinel over his country. He wondered often over those below him, what were their lives, their tales. He would see them walking to and fro, hither and thither rushing through their daily lives. He heard their jokes, their laughs and they made him happy, they were his people and he loved them, he longed to be with them; to share in their fights, their dreams, even their pain. Alas, he could not, he could only watch over them on high and let the wind play with him.
Sometimes he hated his life above. While gentle now, the wind was not always, sometimes it would tear at him savagely as the rain or sleet battered him. Sometimes it would leave him all together and let the roasting sun cook him. In those times of hardship he would think, dream, of a life below; a life laughing with his people, crying with his people, hoping and hurting with his people. But alas he could only dream... for he was a flag.
OoC: (sorry, I just really wanted to write about a flag)
Sometimes he hated his life above. While gentle now, the wind was not always, sometimes it would tear at him savagely as the rain or sleet battered him. Sometimes it would leave him all together and let the roasting sun cook him. In those times of hardship he would think, dream, of a life below; a life laughing with his people, crying with his people, hoping and hurting with his people. But alas he could only dream... for he was a flag.
OoC: (sorry, I just really wanted to write about a flag)