all things are poisons
for there is nothing without poisonous qualities.
Her mother had not been the type to lie in wait. She had done everything she could to see her land raised from the dead, though it had not been enough. Instead, the monsters of the world had swallowed her, taken her back into the ground. You’d think for Iris, who stood there as a child and watched it all happen, that it might be traumatic. But Straia didn’t raise children to find anything traumatic, and truthfully, Straia wasn’t the type of mother that one was meant to mourn. Don’t hear that wrong - she was a good mother, the sort that equipped her children to succeed and grow and not need their mother at all. She was highly successful at it, so much so that as Straia was swallowed by the earth her two year old child barely batted an eyelash.
It isn’t long before another finds him, and the dead chitter in her ear about him. He’s been here in times long past it seems, and she realizes then just how many dead Beqanna truly has. There are the ghosts that speak to her, the ones unseen, but there are those that haunt the world of the living as well. They come and go as if life and death do not really matter in this place. Perhaps they do not.
She has no idea of their relationship, nor do the ghosts. Or if they do, they don’t tell her, though she’s pretty sure they would if they had such knowledge. Family ties are not something that the ghosts tend to keep up with however, and she imagines that just doesn’t seem so important from the other side. They’d rather tell the stories of their lifetimes, and those that knew this stallion before her are the most eager. They love to feel as though they are still relevant in the world, and to her, they certainly are.
Her eyes turn to him as he slows, her amber eyes the only resemblance she has to her brown and white mother. Iris looks like her father, whom she never met, and Iris’s twin looks like her mother. ”Only in my mother’s stories,” she says in response, not quite mentioning that she isn’t sure this land would qualify as beautiful. Enthralling, maybe. Intoxicating, maybe. She’s not sure if a land can hold such sway over her, but she’s considering the possibility as she stands here, surrounded by the misty pine forests. It certainly feels like home, like she was born to be here. ”I take it you lived here once?”
It isn’t long before another finds him, and the dead chitter in her ear about him. He’s been here in times long past it seems, and she realizes then just how many dead Beqanna truly has. There are the ghosts that speak to her, the ones unseen, but there are those that haunt the world of the living as well. They come and go as if life and death do not really matter in this place. Perhaps they do not.
She has no idea of their relationship, nor do the ghosts. Or if they do, they don’t tell her, though she’s pretty sure they would if they had such knowledge. Family ties are not something that the ghosts tend to keep up with however, and she imagines that just doesn’t seem so important from the other side. They’d rather tell the stories of their lifetimes, and those that knew this stallion before her are the most eager. They love to feel as though they are still relevant in the world, and to her, they certainly are.
Her eyes turn to him as he slows, her amber eyes the only resemblance she has to her brown and white mother. Iris looks like her father, whom she never met, and Iris’s twin looks like her mother. ”Only in my mother’s stories,” she says in response, not quite mentioning that she isn’t sure this land would qualify as beautiful. Enthralling, maybe. Intoxicating, maybe. She’s not sure if a land can hold such sway over her, but she’s considering the possibility as she stands here, surrounded by the misty pine forests. It certainly feels like home, like she was born to be here. ”I take it you lived here once?”
it is only the dose that matters
iris
@
Tatter