02-11-2018, 04:39 PM
She still lives within the shadowy cocoon of Home, although she grows much quicker than others born her age (others she has yet to meet, though their interactions might be clumsy and slippery in the end). Mother only lets her past the barrier when the moon is a quarter above the horizon, and some of the time she is under the chittering protection of Father.
They fear something, she’s noticed. Their eyes glance over their shoulders. When she settles among her sisters — whomever might still linger near Mother and Father — they do not protect them nearly as carefully as their youngest. But it is not for the natural predators of the world (the cougar and the wolf, the poison ivy and the swollen river). It is protection from something they have created themselves, the first jealous sister borne from twisted, malicious hips.
There is a different scent today, somewhat familiar and yet entirely foreign. She is settled within the shadow of tightly-woven brush when there is a stirring nearby.
Someone moves.
The girl stirs in return, sliding from between the bramble to investigate further. When the newcomer speaks, she doesn’t understand. It is the language Mother speaks, but there is too many of them for her to comprehend easily. She chitters in return, still a youngster with a curious, expanding mind. Her armored body pulls itself through the undergrowth to come into view of the soft-skinned, dark woman with her bony pet.
Who?
They fear something, she’s noticed. Their eyes glance over their shoulders. When she settles among her sisters — whomever might still linger near Mother and Father — they do not protect them nearly as carefully as their youngest. But it is not for the natural predators of the world (the cougar and the wolf, the poison ivy and the swollen river). It is protection from something they have created themselves, the first jealous sister borne from twisted, malicious hips.
There is a different scent today, somewhat familiar and yet entirely foreign. She is settled within the shadow of tightly-woven brush when there is a stirring nearby.
Someone moves.
The girl stirs in return, sliding from between the bramble to investigate further. When the newcomer speaks, she doesn’t understand. It is the language Mother speaks, but there is too many of them for her to comprehend easily. She chitters in return, still a youngster with a curious, expanding mind. Her armored body pulls itself through the undergrowth to come into view of the soft-skinned, dark woman with her bony pet.
Who?