04-03-2018, 08:59 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
With the exceptions of her frequent adventures on the mainland, Wishbone has spent all of her life in Tephra. Her days of childhood were spent weaving between thick tree trunks and slender lava streams, spent discovering the sea-squirrels and watching the whales breach on the horizon, spent bruising her knees on the rugged face of the volcano in hopes of reaching its peak. Having spent so many days and nights on the island, the mahogany girl knows just about every face and scent that finds itself on the shore.
She’s in a dangerous mood today — though most of her days are. While the volcano hasn’t showed signs of erupting in Wishbone’s lifetime, the bowels of its heat leak from below the surface to wind among forests and clearings and soothing hot springs. They often vary in size, stretching wider than a horse’s leap or narrowing into a rabbit’s step.
The maturing girl is spending some of her time hopping over the lava-streams, finding one slightly bigger than the next as she goes. Wishbone has just cleared something more akin to a river when a new scent catches her attention. The aromas of Tephra’s inhabitants are as familiar to her as the sting of brine and the choke of ash, so this new path grabs her attention quickly.
Her muscles ache from overextending the last jump (if she’d not made it — which she barely did — she would have been done for) but Wishbone gives her body a rough shake and begins to follow the trail weaving between the undergrowth. It isn’t long before she makes out a buckskin frame. She’s silent, working her way through the forest with calculated stealth, until she’s close enough to touch the other’s tail.
“Who’re you?”
She’s in a dangerous mood today — though most of her days are. While the volcano hasn’t showed signs of erupting in Wishbone’s lifetime, the bowels of its heat leak from below the surface to wind among forests and clearings and soothing hot springs. They often vary in size, stretching wider than a horse’s leap or narrowing into a rabbit’s step.
The maturing girl is spending some of her time hopping over the lava-streams, finding one slightly bigger than the next as she goes. Wishbone has just cleared something more akin to a river when a new scent catches her attention. The aromas of Tephra’s inhabitants are as familiar to her as the sting of brine and the choke of ash, so this new path grabs her attention quickly.
Her muscles ache from overextending the last jump (if she’d not made it — which she barely did — she would have been done for) but Wishbone gives her body a rough shake and begins to follow the trail weaving between the undergrowth. It isn’t long before she makes out a buckskin frame. She’s silent, working her way through the forest with calculated stealth, until she’s close enough to touch the other’s tail.
“Who’re you?”
@[Jackel]