02-15-2016, 01:30 PM
Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies
She comes back with as little fanfare as when she left. Though she doesn’t remember the journey back. She only remembers Death’s sweet, soft touch. Remembers falling asleep beneath that touch, remembers the peace that sleep brought. No more pain, no more fear, no more running. Just beautiful, quiet sleep.
Her raven is the thing to wake her, cawing like a maniac now that it’s found her again. It’s black feather’s brush against her, examining cuts and scrapes. She mostly don’t care, till it’s wing brushes against her cracked ribs, and even that light pressure makes her screech. The raven stops, pulling its wings back and tucking them to it’s side, suddenly very silent as it looks at her with intense, beady black eyes. “Hello, Mother,” she says softly, knowing her mother is behind those eyes now.
Certainly, her disappearance didn’t go unnoticed. Raven would have told Mother, and Mother has probably had an army of raven’s looking around Beqanna for her. Or maybe not. Maybe Mother has simply been waiting for her to return. Weaver sits up slowly, wanting more than anything to go back to sleep. Death had been a beautiful thing, truthfully. Well at least, death had hurt a whole lot less than she hurts now.
Her eyes travel to where the raven seems to be staring. Blue markings, the color of death and mimicking those on the four seals, swirl on her chest. They are faint, but they are there. She is the seal now. She knows this with a certainty she shouldn’t have, but she knows it anyway. She holds Death at bay. What a heavy burden for a child so small, but Weaver doesn’t find to be too heavy for her to bear.
The raven’s gaze goes blank again for a moment, and then it takes to the sky above her, perching in a nearby tree. Apparently Mother isn’t too worried about her. Or else she’s on her way to collect the girl. Weaver never really knows for sure.
But then she spots the girl without a name. Sister, they call her. How long has Weaver been gone? Has it only been moments in Beqanna, or has so much time passed that Lilin has come and gone, and Weaver just happened to pop back in at the same time? “Sister!” she calls, not knowing what else to call the mare. She’s still on the ground, but she gets to her feet slowly now. Her side is a wash in pain, her black and white coat painted with blood and dirt and dried sweat.
Her steps are slow but steady enough, crossing whatever distance Lilin doesn’t cross. Weaver, if she were any other girl, would probably start with the more obvious topic of “how long has it been since I disappeared to save the world?”, or something of the like. But instead, she asks. “Do you have an actual name, or should I really call you Sister?”
Her raven is the thing to wake her, cawing like a maniac now that it’s found her again. It’s black feather’s brush against her, examining cuts and scrapes. She mostly don’t care, till it’s wing brushes against her cracked ribs, and even that light pressure makes her screech. The raven stops, pulling its wings back and tucking them to it’s side, suddenly very silent as it looks at her with intense, beady black eyes. “Hello, Mother,” she says softly, knowing her mother is behind those eyes now.
Certainly, her disappearance didn’t go unnoticed. Raven would have told Mother, and Mother has probably had an army of raven’s looking around Beqanna for her. Or maybe not. Maybe Mother has simply been waiting for her to return. Weaver sits up slowly, wanting more than anything to go back to sleep. Death had been a beautiful thing, truthfully. Well at least, death had hurt a whole lot less than she hurts now.
Her eyes travel to where the raven seems to be staring. Blue markings, the color of death and mimicking those on the four seals, swirl on her chest. They are faint, but they are there. She is the seal now. She knows this with a certainty she shouldn’t have, but she knows it anyway. She holds Death at bay. What a heavy burden for a child so small, but Weaver doesn’t find to be too heavy for her to bear.
The raven’s gaze goes blank again for a moment, and then it takes to the sky above her, perching in a nearby tree. Apparently Mother isn’t too worried about her. Or else she’s on her way to collect the girl. Weaver never really knows for sure.
But then she spots the girl without a name. Sister, they call her. How long has Weaver been gone? Has it only been moments in Beqanna, or has so much time passed that Lilin has come and gone, and Weaver just happened to pop back in at the same time? “Sister!” she calls, not knowing what else to call the mare. She’s still on the ground, but she gets to her feet slowly now. Her side is a wash in pain, her black and white coat painted with blood and dirt and dried sweat.
Her steps are slow but steady enough, crossing whatever distance Lilin doesn’t cross. Weaver, if she were any other girl, would probably start with the more obvious topic of “how long has it been since I disappeared to save the world?”, or something of the like. But instead, she asks. “Do you have an actual name, or should I really call you Sister?”
weaver
weed and straia's chamber princess