- ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐
๐ โ xxxxโ butler โ he/him โ location: outside; the woods โ tagged; bero โ
Relevant history. It was a murky term, and Robert could see the knight was at least a little bit perplexed. It was a murky term, meaning fuzzy and unclear, and Robert liked it that way. His mother's demise wasn't a secret, but it wasn't like he went around parading it to anyone who would listen; it made him uncomfortable, and cagey. The words were a strange choice, maybe, but it felt better to distance himself in a way he could control from her death; he loathed the way his shoulders would raise and his face would scrunch up when a conversation about her went any other way than he wanted it to. If he said 'relevant history', he could pretend he was past it; he had mourned, and moved on. Had he, though? He couldn't tell; his feelings were as meek and slippery as his words.
Robert smiled softly as they fell into step. He recalls, as a child, asking for his mother and his friends or peers to walk in step with him, it was nice. Musical, almost.
On that thought, he took a moment to think of the sounds around him; footfalls, in unison; the wind, softly, and the leaves brushing against each other as trees swayed. And, what was that? A third set of footfalls...? Robert shook the thought away; must be a rabbit, or something.
"Yes, easy on me;" Robert laughed. "I might be able to... defame you, I s'pose, but you get one good nick in, and that's me done!" Robert spoke with his hands, crossing them over to accentuate his final word, grinning as he spoke.
An epic, the Bear and the Poet. Robert briefly pondered what it might be about. Maybe a bear, in the literal sense? And the poet who shows a softer side to the cruel reign of humans, and pens pretty words describing the thing's fur, and it's eyes, and the way it grabs from the river so easily-- and how many months it took for the bear to perfect the way it angled its great big paws to the river.
Maybe, like now, the title of Bear was a metaphor, for a grizzled, jaded warrior, soul hardened by years of fighting in a coliseum for the wealthy elite. The Poet, maybe, someone who was not poisoned with contempt, who saw the little details and is fascinated by the Bear's scars.
Perhaps the epic of the Bear and the Poet simply didn't exist; and it was up to Robert to grab his pen and try his hand at prose once more.
"I'm not wrong," Robert smiled. He was half-aware that the way he saw the world was different at best, but he had no other choice; he had always seen man as another animal, perhaps only even briefly disconnected from the rest due to, what, apposable thumbs and the ability to communicate with one another.
Given enough time, Robert thinks, any animal could have taken the role of the human.
Ants and bees, especially, have wonderful infrastructure; a social hierarchy, and not even one that leaves those at the bottom without food or necessities. All members of a hive or nest had their roles; their jobs, and they all worked for the good of the collective. Not only could they have filled the role of humans, had they enough time, Robert also guessed they could surpass humans easily enough.
Robert loved to observe insects; had ever since he was young. He found it easy to draw connections between the structured society of the critters and the one he himself lived in, and found it fascinated. He began to seek out books about them, to learn as much as he possibly could.
As he grew, he began to notice the differences, big and small. It had definitely shaped the way he looked at the world.
Robert was slightly taken aback at Bero's statement. He... well, he certainly wasn't a liar when he said that. Robert was unusual. He just thought at length about how the society of ants and bees and how it compares and contrasts to human society.
Robert listened intently as he elaborated.
Brainpower, philosophy. Maybe he could just spout out the craziest theories about life and consciousness that Bero would simply cease to be, or something. Robert grinned.
"I suppose it is. The great behemoth of nature is, maybe, the final authority on all that happens in this world." Maybe, he pondered, we as human beings are taking some of that power that nature holds. Maybe we should give it back, he thought. Maybe it's not rightfully ours.
It was something to think about as he crushed leaves beneath his feet, something to think about as the tree they hailed from reached far above his head and into the sky.
