A Moorling is a very lonely entity, having no family or friends, neighbors or a community of such to depend upon. It has no shape or form, or substance for it is neither, man or beast. I will endeavor to explain, in the best way I can of what exactly a Moorling is with a tale of sorts –
A shifting shape of colour and light played amongst the treetops, its form changing to suit its will. How it loved to play. Neither young or old, this elemental just was, it shone in the dawn, soaking up the bleeding oranges and splendorous gold. It stretched itself out long and twisted, then in a slow, lazy movement the Moorling bent in the subtle evening dusk, drifting languidly in a shimmering skin of rose and blue, pretending all the while that the Pata Batu held it in a lover’s embrace.
Sometimes it would mix the two colours such as its nature dictated, throwing out shards of violet light across the night’s darkened cloak. How it loved to play, but as all things this creature, if you call it such, craved company, for it was intelligent, strong willed and very, very lonely.
Perhaps it was a desperate cry in this moment; an expression of wishing that sent the Moorling into choosing colours of dark loamed earth, the black of a lakes bottomless waters and the deep lush green of heavy shadowed foliage. This hour it flaunted depressing shades of unhappiness. This hour the Moorling wallowed in the darkest of thoughts. Would it never know a solid touch? Would it just drift about the world, watching and hoping?
Oh, it had many opportunities to claim a host but there were none worthy enough, well that was what it told itself. Hosting was dangerous, jumping into a living body could, if unlucky prove fatal; the risk almost outweighed the craving need to be a part of Tarkeenia’s mainstream. To feel, to touch, it would be perfect.
The wind changed, it blew through the Moorling and with it a nasty thought. What if melding with another life ended his? The Moorling shuddered but its colours never changed.
This hour it sat in its favourite spot, high in the rain forests trees, shimmering in the morning’s sun, breaking its current mood with sharp flashes of iridescent red. Such was its nature, it could never remain much of anything, whether it be happy or sad, it just was. It couldn’t sigh as it would have wished, it couldn’t pout or shed tears in unhappiness so streaked downwards towards the waterfall, skimming across the water’s surface to catch the foaming mist, only then could it feel a closeness to being solid.
We all want to be loved, we all want to feel and be more than what we already are.