11-04-2016, 12:33 PM
Leveled and then built up around old bones. ‘Start anew,’ She had commanded. Demanded, from Her precipice – Her throne of dust and stone. She had been raised to honor the all-Mother. She had been raised to glory in the Goddess and in Her works – Her sows and Her harvests; springs and falls – and so the parting of her two souls from one another had been a painful one. A quiet… senselessly quiet division by force.
Longear had never known such silence, such single-mindedness.
Such loneliness. It had been... maddening.
The birth of her girls had softened it some.
(‘I’ll come for you. Just a little longer, now.’)
And so she had. So she had been summoned. So she had made that pilgrimage of loss once more.
And when she looked skyward, a sensation, like an electric shock, raised the hairs on her nose. Traveled fast and furious between her ears and stole down the ridges of her spine. She had felt this before.
This was the fusion. The sewing. The soldering.
She is whole.
She enters the Field by passages accessible only to her. Her, and a kingdom of smaller things, in cautious, loping steps. (‘Careful,’ the rabbit whispers, as is her way.) “I know,” she mutters back, in that tiny voice that had been sparked alive when the two of them had finally settled into each other’s bones. She stands on her hind legs and looks around, then drops again and takes a few more steps. She repeats these motions until she is assured of her safe surroundings, then sits to examine the crowd. It is almost never something big that draws her to someone. It is usually something unremarkable or sometimes, it seems, nothing at all.
Perhaps, she is drawn to his unease. Same calls to same. In another time – another iteration of this living landscape – they may have never crossed paths. At least not like this. He would, perhaps, be happy in his kingdom of ice and snow. Perhaps, she in her country of jaguars and rubber trees. So much had rattled the bones of that contentment. Of Home, that ever-changing and fleet-footed thing.
She approaches him as she is – a rabbit, small and wilder because of her wintered coat – and then in the blink of an eye, she is the small, round and fuzzy pony that is the more relatable shape for these kinds of things. Though, ever here she retains the cottontail, sitting flat and calm. “Hello,” her smile is the warm one inherited from her mother, as is the quiet, curious nature of her bright, golden-brown eyes. “My name is Longear, from Tephra.” Home. Home.
That capricious, wonderful wild-goose chase.
Longear had never known such silence, such single-mindedness.
Such loneliness. It had been... maddening.
The birth of her girls had softened it some.
(‘I’ll come for you. Just a little longer, now.’)
And so she had. So she had been summoned. So she had made that pilgrimage of loss once more.
And when she looked skyward, a sensation, like an electric shock, raised the hairs on her nose. Traveled fast and furious between her ears and stole down the ridges of her spine. She had felt this before.
This was the fusion. The sewing. The soldering.
She is whole.
She enters the Field by passages accessible only to her. Her, and a kingdom of smaller things, in cautious, loping steps. (‘Careful,’ the rabbit whispers, as is her way.) “I know,” she mutters back, in that tiny voice that had been sparked alive when the two of them had finally settled into each other’s bones. She stands on her hind legs and looks around, then drops again and takes a few more steps. She repeats these motions until she is assured of her safe surroundings, then sits to examine the crowd. It is almost never something big that draws her to someone. It is usually something unremarkable or sometimes, it seems, nothing at all.
Perhaps, she is drawn to his unease. Same calls to same. In another time – another iteration of this living landscape – they may have never crossed paths. At least not like this. He would, perhaps, be happy in his kingdom of ice and snow. Perhaps, she in her country of jaguars and rubber trees. So much had rattled the bones of that contentment. Of Home, that ever-changing and fleet-footed thing.
She approaches him as she is – a rabbit, small and wilder because of her wintered coat – and then in the blink of an eye, she is the small, round and fuzzy pony that is the more relatable shape for these kinds of things. Though, ever here she retains the cottontail, sitting flat and calm. “Hello,” her smile is the warm one inherited from her mother, as is the quiet, curious nature of her bright, golden-brown eyes. “My name is Longear, from Tephra.” Home. Home.
That capricious, wonderful wild-goose chase.