04-26-2019, 11:06 AM
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<center><div class="Wennycontain"><img class="Wennyimg" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ea/37/69/ea3769a9996075ca9173f6b7facc065a.jpg"><div class="Wennyname">Eurwen</div>
<div class="Wennyquote">the secret of walking on water<br>is knowing where the rocks lie</div><div class="Wennygrad"></div><div class="Wennytext">
They’re passed out and wary, all adding their ingredients and blood…
and nothing happens.
Had she expected something? Admittedly, yes. There had been a call. There had been an ice task so hard it hadn’t left even her father unscathed. There had been another call and she, foolish girl, had gone. There had been a task including monsters and rocks but she’d brought pebbles with her cousins. There had been yet another call, she might not have heard it then, and flowers had been gathered - she didn’t know what had been endured to get them, but very probably it had cost the participants something. There had been one more call, and her brother had nearly drowned in both water and then sand, to collect the shells.
There had been a call and she had climbed the mountain. There had been an earthquake, she lost her control, the mountain had split, they had all but tumbled down to get here.
And what did they get?
A small vial, a cure for only one.
She stares at it in disbelief for a long time. She barely misses the new task that is given, expecting the cure inside the vial to somehow multiply, or to be stronger; maybe if she pours it into the river, everyone who drinks from it will be cured? In her feverish dreams, it doesn’t feel like such a bad idea for a moment.
But the mirror shows her another and she knows she cannot risk diluting the cure and help no-one in the end. Between all the dying horses of the mirror visions, she finds her little brother. The one she has babysat for numerous days, who is growing up to be a handsome strong lad… if he wasn’t coughing all the time, and who knows what else the plague does to him. If the sickness grows worse - it shall, it shall - he’ll be dying, and he’ll lose whatever strength there is in growing up - he will, he will - and he will never reach his full potential.
But she won’t either, at this rate.
Swaying on her legs, still at the heart of Beqanna, she contemplates the flask she’s been given - the cure she came for - and it makes her hesitate, not unlike the icy mirror image of herself atop the mountain, the one in the glacier. If she took it for herself, she might be one of the few strong and healthy horses around: she could become what she hoped to be. A strong leader. She would be able to help, able to guide, able to fight.
But it only takes a moment. If she took this vial now, whatever future leadership she might have gained would be based on the betrayal of another. Even if she and Beqanna are nearly whole now - she’s not, she’s not important enough for that - she couldn’t be sure if taking the cure would help enough people.
The only certainty that she has it to help one.
And she makes a decision. Delirious, trembling with fatigue and blood loss, she steps through the portal.
”Aodhán.” Her voice is a rough whisper, hoarse from coughing that she no longer has the energy for. ”We’re making the cure, but we need someone to test it. It can't be me, since I made it." She shows him the vial. "I thought you should have the first sip. See if it works.”
He doesn’t need to know that there is no more, she thinks. He might not take it if he knew.
That’s what makes him worthy. Better than her, because she had been tempted and he would probably not have hesitated.
Besides, hadn’t she already concluded earlier that she was not worth saving? Hadn't her mirror image been right all along?
She watches him swallow it, and her legs give. She looks up to him, eyes glazed, but with a smile, her connection to the ground below finally returning, but like in the place below the mountain, there's something strange about the magic. Where does she end, where does Beqanna begin?
That doesn’t really matter now, does it?</div></div></center>
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<center><div class="Wennycontain"><img class="Wennyimg" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/ea/37/69/ea3769a9996075ca9173f6b7facc065a.jpg"><div class="Wennyname">Eurwen</div>
<div class="Wennyquote">the secret of walking on water<br>is knowing where the rocks lie</div><div class="Wennygrad"></div><div class="Wennytext">
They’re passed out and wary, all adding their ingredients and blood…
and nothing happens.
Had she expected something? Admittedly, yes. There had been a call. There had been an ice task so hard it hadn’t left even her father unscathed. There had been another call and she, foolish girl, had gone. There had been a task including monsters and rocks but she’d brought pebbles with her cousins. There had been yet another call, she might not have heard it then, and flowers had been gathered - she didn’t know what had been endured to get them, but very probably it had cost the participants something. There had been one more call, and her brother had nearly drowned in both water and then sand, to collect the shells.
There had been a call and she had climbed the mountain. There had been an earthquake, she lost her control, the mountain had split, they had all but tumbled down to get here.
And what did they get?
A small vial, a cure for only one.
She stares at it in disbelief for a long time. She barely misses the new task that is given, expecting the cure inside the vial to somehow multiply, or to be stronger; maybe if she pours it into the river, everyone who drinks from it will be cured? In her feverish dreams, it doesn’t feel like such a bad idea for a moment.
But the mirror shows her another and she knows she cannot risk diluting the cure and help no-one in the end. Between all the dying horses of the mirror visions, she finds her little brother. The one she has babysat for numerous days, who is growing up to be a handsome strong lad… if he wasn’t coughing all the time, and who knows what else the plague does to him. If the sickness grows worse - it shall, it shall - he’ll be dying, and he’ll lose whatever strength there is in growing up - he will, he will - and he will never reach his full potential.
But she won’t either, at this rate.
Swaying on her legs, still at the heart of Beqanna, she contemplates the flask she’s been given - the cure she came for - and it makes her hesitate, not unlike the icy mirror image of herself atop the mountain, the one in the glacier. If she took it for herself, she might be one of the few strong and healthy horses around: she could become what she hoped to be. A strong leader. She would be able to help, able to guide, able to fight.
But it only takes a moment. If she took this vial now, whatever future leadership she might have gained would be based on the betrayal of another. Even if she and Beqanna are nearly whole now - she’s not, she’s not important enough for that - she couldn’t be sure if taking the cure would help enough people.
The only certainty that she has it to help one.
And she makes a decision. Delirious, trembling with fatigue and blood loss, she steps through the portal.
”Aodhán.” Her voice is a rough whisper, hoarse from coughing that she no longer has the energy for. ”We’re making the cure, but we need someone to test it. It can't be me, since I made it." She shows him the vial. "I thought you should have the first sip. See if it works.”
He doesn’t need to know that there is no more, she thinks. He might not take it if he knew.
That’s what makes him worthy. Better than her, because she had been tempted and he would probably not have hesitated.
Besides, hadn’t she already concluded earlier that she was not worth saving? Hadn't her mirror image been right all along?
She watches him swallow it, and her legs give. She looks up to him, eyes glazed, but with a smile, her connection to the ground below finally returning, but like in the place below the mountain, there's something strange about the magic. Where does she end, where does Beqanna begin?
That doesn’t really matter now, does it?</div></div></center>