[open] i leave you my dust and dry bones

[Osyva]

She is not sure if it is the sight of blood or the smell of decaying flesh, but she feels the blood rushing from her head as she attempts to move and she feels as if she might faint. Memories stir from the war, and in her mind she sees the glow of flames illuminating the blood soaked ground. She sees the Mother Tree a lifeless stump. She hears to clash of magic in the sky - the roar of of destruction. And then the mist that lulled her into deep, warm slumber. She blinks hard, as if to close her eyes on her saturnine mind. His voice cuts through the evening shadow and Osyva is torn from the past and back into the present. “You seem upset.” he says - a figure of deep blue amidst the darkness of the night. She blinks away the bleariness of the last salty tear and dips her head shyly, warmth rushing to her cheeks. “It was just a dream.” she says, unable to hide the disgust in her voice. But it is not contempt for this stanger, but for letting herself get caught in her sadness. She has always felt the need to hide her feelings from others, bury them down in the depths of the forest where no one else could see her weakness. He - he has caught her naked. Her sadness is self-inflicted - a choice to hide herself away in isolation - to let her memories cripple her and eat her away. There are others who have suffered so much worse than the loss of their parents - than being a witness to war. Useless, helpless Osyva. With a sniff she regains her composure, looking up at him with a face nearly as stoic as his own. But, he isn’t fooled, is he? And neither is she. “I am Osyva.” she says with a half-hearted smile. Poor, sad Osyva.

@[Raed]