01-19-2021, 09:44 PM
it's a mystery to me
we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
It had rained overnight, and the dark had left Wishbone with a damp ache in her bones. She reasons that it is good for the vegetation to receive the life it needs to continue. Even she cannot deny that the trees and bushes and vines seem happier this morning, full of energy and color. While the undergrowth had protected her from the worst of the rain, there is an underlying stiffness in her joints and she has a dull headache. So she heads toward the beachfront where the sun’s strength will hit first and she can relish in the warmth it brings.
As she walks, Wishbone recalls her mother’s simple remedies for the pains of life. The sun would heal almost any ache, the salt of the ocean would wash clean almost any wound, a midday summer storm would soothe almost any sorrowful heart — all these were recipes Wound would teach her daughter, even when that girl’s restless little body couldn’t stand to hear them. Thinking of her mother brings a soft smile to Wishbone’s face, and it lingers as she breaks past the treeline to step onto the black shoreline.
Her lips fall into an expression of surprise when the ground shakes under her feet. For a brief moment, Wishbone wonders if the volcano is going to push forth steaming lava from its mouth, soaking whatever inhabitants of Tephra may be close by. Fear quickens the drum of her heart, and the midnight-clad woman sweeps her gaze across the beach for any signs of life.
It doesn’t take long for her to realize the real cause of the ground rolling beneath her, nor does it take Wishbone long to recognize her brother’s shape half-buried in the black sand. “Warden!” she shouts, rushing toward him on long dark legs. As she gets closer, she repeats his name, praying to whatever ancestors or star-gods or fairies that may be watching and listening. “Get up, Warden, please.” Her nose explores the parts of him that aren’t buried in the beach, her stomach twisting at the thought of what injuries he might have sustained.
As she walks, Wishbone recalls her mother’s simple remedies for the pains of life. The sun would heal almost any ache, the salt of the ocean would wash clean almost any wound, a midday summer storm would soothe almost any sorrowful heart — all these were recipes Wound would teach her daughter, even when that girl’s restless little body couldn’t stand to hear them. Thinking of her mother brings a soft smile to Wishbone’s face, and it lingers as she breaks past the treeline to step onto the black shoreline.
Her lips fall into an expression of surprise when the ground shakes under her feet. For a brief moment, Wishbone wonders if the volcano is going to push forth steaming lava from its mouth, soaking whatever inhabitants of Tephra may be close by. Fear quickens the drum of her heart, and the midnight-clad woman sweeps her gaze across the beach for any signs of life.
It doesn’t take long for her to realize the real cause of the ground rolling beneath her, nor does it take Wishbone long to recognize her brother’s shape half-buried in the black sand. “Warden!” she shouts, rushing toward him on long dark legs. As she gets closer, she repeats his name, praying to whatever ancestors or star-gods or fairies that may be watching and listening. “Get up, Warden, please.” Her nose explores the parts of him that aren’t buried in the beach, her stomach twisting at the thought of what injuries he might have sustained.
@[Warden]