between the shadows and the soul - any

[Aurane]

She blinks. Slowly. Pressing a bit at the apex, squeezing her lashes together. But when she opens her eyes again it is still there. Hot, and emanating — something. Whispers? Screams? She shakes her head, pinning her ears back to exorcise the din of clicks and screeches that fill her worried ears. It is still there. Hot. Holding something secret and knowing it its boughs; its infernal belly heaving smoke and licking flames. ***Still there. Growing ever hotter. Consuming the sky with the might of its own perverse heats source. She blinks. (It is still there. Hot. And the jack and silver pines around it are ashes, but it is still there, burning.) (You have to give it to Eyes. He's found a place of curiosities for you.) The red woman shifts her weight, black-brown eyes overwhelmed with the scorch of red and orange. “Eyes was right,” She mutters, tilting her head at the caw of the flaming sentry, “...to... bring us... here.” Her eyes narrow, ears swerving to track the soft thump of hooves, and the queer thrum of grandeur. Aurane smiles. She has never seen a queen before. Could not pick one out from the throng, for pomp or dignity. Many an ignoble wretch strut around like royal horseflesh. (There is nothing but bone and viscera under there, too.) “Too right,” She whispers through clenched teeth, moving quietly in her cloak of pine-green shade to watch the woman move into the sear of the that hellish tree. (The ground around them is ashes and flames, and Aurane smells the sloughing of melting skin — her own, though she cannot feel it. But She is untouched. This unnatural monument and her are intimate, sharing the waves of each other's warmth. The flaming sentry swoops down and digs its claws unto the poll of Her neck. Only smoke releases from the punctures.) ***She moves from the hold of sharp needles and mossy gloom, slow and easy; watching Her with suspicion and hunger in a heady admixture. The red woman feels the heat grow, the air distorted by the energy of that combustion. Aurane stops more than a body's length away, uncharacteristically tame. “What is this?” Her voice shivers with excitement and fear combined — the blend sending twitches down her spine like lightening. “It knows something...” Aurane. ****Death makes angels of us all, and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claw.