02-23-2019, 02:34 PM
Twigs in hair, the small old lady finds herself back in the common lands. Strange what the seed of a man can make you do, as it trickles down the curve of your thigh in rivulets to drip neatly off the angular bone of your ankle. Can make you do things like seek out the company of others, tho' you have been perfectly content on your own for years.
Pregnant, or not pregnant (but most likely pregnant) she craves the security of a herd, a collection. It's some instinct ingrained deeply into her meat, transcending consciousness; to keep herself safe, and whole. Here, near the warm bodies of folk she can feel their strength and lifeblood. And it gives her strength, and a feeling of safety.
Here, she rests, beneath a smattering of stars and a fat yellow moon. The wash of the water against the river-banks is like music, is music, and it lulls her into sleep.
Pregnant, or not pregnant (but most likely pregnant) she craves the security of a herd, a collection. It's some instinct ingrained deeply into her meat, transcending consciousness; to keep herself safe, and whole. Here, near the warm bodies of folk she can feel their strength and lifeblood. And it gives her strength, and a feeling of safety.
Here, she rests, beneath a smattering of stars and a fat yellow moon. The wash of the water against the river-banks is like music, is music, and it lulls her into sleep.