They had cast him out.
They had torn his wings away, stuck thorns in his hands, his feet, his side, carved the mark of the beast upon his hip and thrown him to the earth.
Now he was alone. Alone, naked and shivering. Cast out by his own kind and raped of his angellic nature.
He had risen to fight them and they had laughed in his face. Now he would never again see the dazzling light of Heaven.
Mortality lurked within his soul now like a spectre, and he had to live a mortal, human life still remebering what it had been to stare upon the face of God and know utter peace.
He curled up upon the grass of the desolate hillside and wept, wept out the murky depths of his soul until his eyes were dry and his face was numb.
Then he just lay there. After all . . . what else could he do now that his dreams were shredded over the mountainside, dampened by his faith?
The penultimate picture in the 'Somewhat Damaged' sequence, I offer Niccie my undying gratitude for getting his kit off on Bangor Mountain in the middle of October, and then letting me put the photos on the web!