Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lillies and the vines
Please stay, for this fear it will not die
Down low, down amongst the thorn rows
Weeds grow, through the lillies and the vines
"Aloof" fails to do justice in describing the mare in the river but then, most words do. Whatever definition she fell under in the past she rejects in the present, determined to detach from her identity to such an extent that reality becomes uncategorized, too. Let them live, she thinks to herself. Let them live and die while I remain here.
She feels no different when another one of them arrives. Her ear offers the smallest of twitches at the mare's crooning voice, first directionless and then headed straight for her. How fitting, that a madwoman would be the first to discover the nymph freeloading in this autumnal land; the powers that be seemed quite inept at rooting out the rats, to whose numbers Noori certainly belongs. In any case, she does not care for the other's presence.
Tries not to care.
"Why are you scared of a little water?"
With that, the mage sings to the ancient parts of the river which once took the shape of rain and sends them up, reverse droplets storming above the stranger's heads in a great display of what wickedness lays in a storm. Swirling, tunneling, whipping and slashing. Yet not a drop finds its way to either Noori or the anxious woman who keens to her reflection. And, just when it seems as though the show will reach its peak, the droplets freeze; and, without ceremony, drop back in to the river.
"The devil lives within, or so I've learned."
noori