06-04-2015, 12:13 PM
Etro’s birth seems so long ago; it was easy, wonderfully easy compared to the birth of the triplets. In some small way, she might have been trying to replace her wandering brood with more - more that wouldn’t leave. But they all leave at some point, don’t they?
She knows she cannot always keep them at her side, and so she loves some of them from afar. She loves them all, and always will, no matter what may come. She only wishes, of course, that some had stopped to say goodbye before they took off.
It must have been some sort of freakish time and sandstorm that took Munroe from her (and out in the Desert, she has no doubt that such things exist). So much has happened to Yael in the years that he has been gone. It must have been some sort of magical flux, because every living thing that did not find high ground or leave the Kingdom was destroyed in the flood. Yael herself had travelled the length and breadth of the Desert, draining the waters with the land’s own help. Never once did she see her wild child. For that, she was grateful… because to find him would have meant that he was dead, and there was too much death in Yael’s life already.
Her Tribe. Aviva. Vanquish. Nocturnal. Morphine. Esther.
If the eternal woman was ever to look older and wiser, it is now, with her mane and tail streaked silver by the raw power of the Desert. Only slightly different than when he last saw her, but there are tiny, sorrowful lines at the corners of her eyes, and while she shines in the sun, it is not as bright as it was before. Yael is coping. Yael is trying to stay busy. Yael is not as sad as she was before. Time passes and heals, but it is glacially, achingly slow.
The ex-Queen simply stands atop a dune, surveying the land she used to rule. Her eyes are closed as she leans into the wind, relishing its cooler temperature as it brings winter air southward. She expands her circle of concentration, letting it radiate away from her slowly, touching each and every living thing. She feels the sand as it shifts and stirs and is lifted by the wind, the beetles and snakes as they sidewind and burrow, the occasional Desert resident and then - then she gasps and her eyes fly open. Tears begin to well in her eyes, and her heart pounds joyfully and ecstatically for whom she has just felt. With her next breath, she disappears from the dune and reappears ten feet from him, his name on her lips and breath caught in her chest.
“Munroe…” she whispers, drinking him in. She doesn’t realize how thirsty she’s been.
She knows she cannot always keep them at her side, and so she loves some of them from afar. She loves them all, and always will, no matter what may come. She only wishes, of course, that some had stopped to say goodbye before they took off.
It must have been some sort of freakish time and sandstorm that took Munroe from her (and out in the Desert, she has no doubt that such things exist). So much has happened to Yael in the years that he has been gone. It must have been some sort of magical flux, because every living thing that did not find high ground or leave the Kingdom was destroyed in the flood. Yael herself had travelled the length and breadth of the Desert, draining the waters with the land’s own help. Never once did she see her wild child. For that, she was grateful… because to find him would have meant that he was dead, and there was too much death in Yael’s life already.
Her Tribe. Aviva. Vanquish. Nocturnal. Morphine. Esther.
If the eternal woman was ever to look older and wiser, it is now, with her mane and tail streaked silver by the raw power of the Desert. Only slightly different than when he last saw her, but there are tiny, sorrowful lines at the corners of her eyes, and while she shines in the sun, it is not as bright as it was before. Yael is coping. Yael is trying to stay busy. Yael is not as sad as she was before. Time passes and heals, but it is glacially, achingly slow.
The ex-Queen simply stands atop a dune, surveying the land she used to rule. Her eyes are closed as she leans into the wind, relishing its cooler temperature as it brings winter air southward. She expands her circle of concentration, letting it radiate away from her slowly, touching each and every living thing. She feels the sand as it shifts and stirs and is lifted by the wind, the beetles and snakes as they sidewind and burrow, the occasional Desert resident and then - then she gasps and her eyes fly open. Tears begin to well in her eyes, and her heart pounds joyfully and ecstatically for whom she has just felt. With her next breath, she disappears from the dune and reappears ten feet from him, his name on her lips and breath caught in her chest.
“Munroe…” she whispers, drinking him in. She doesn’t realize how thirsty she’s been.
Yael, guardian of the desert