01-08-2021, 02:13 PM
take my soul & make it undone
be the one, be the one to take me home and show me the sun. i know, i know you can bring the fire, i can bring the bones. i know, i know you'll make the fire, my bones will make it grow.
The darkness is unsettling, and it makes Wishbone’s heart quicken from within her chest, but, like Mazikeen, she is too stubborn to say she is afraid. Despite their zeal for life and the way they tempt Fate and Death with carelessness, the instincts of their ancestors hold their bones to tendons and remind their lungs to breathe. Even the spirited cannot deny that the shadows are eerie, and something in their blood whispers that this endless night is not right.
But Wishbone cannot bring herself to say she is afraid. To admit exactly why she pulls the bone from the soil would be a disgrace to all she has overcome in life so far. She has seen Death’s face, an underwater tumble of coral and air bubbles that suddenly brought her into a gray world. She has pulled herself back to Life, sacrificing a father she thought was dead and comforting an ancient legend of their world. She has traveled into the worlds Beyond, striding confidently past their borders while the crown of Nerine was left hanging in the weather-worn trees for a spotted confidant. These experiences and more have sharpened and weakened her, forging her like metal in red-hot flames until she becomes a fierce sword.
And swords are rarely afraid.
The stranger becomes a stranger with a name, which suits Wishbone well enough to lower the mammoth tusk. It floats down until it drops softly on the snow at her feet, nearly disappearing into the darkness that clings to their heels. She wishes for Tephra’s molten lava here. It could then scare the shadows from their ankles, where she feels as vulnerable as a newborn mouse. A chilly sensation traces its fingers up her spine, and Wishbone visibly shivers. She wonders for a moment how a breeze could reach the thick of the woods, but Mazikeen’s question draws her attention away.
“There are many things it could be for, but you’re not one of them.” Her amber eyes are bright with humor, even while her skin crawls with the feeling of being watched. It could be a stranger watching them from the shadows, hesitant to join in their conversation but comforted by the closeness of an alike creature. Despite Wishbone’s desire to believe this, she can’t bring herself to trust the idea entirely. “I’ve heard them, but I haven’t seen any.” Neither of them knows what or who the them are, but they both understand that there are things out in the heavy darkness, whatever they might be. “Have you?”
But Wishbone cannot bring herself to say she is afraid. To admit exactly why she pulls the bone from the soil would be a disgrace to all she has overcome in life so far. She has seen Death’s face, an underwater tumble of coral and air bubbles that suddenly brought her into a gray world. She has pulled herself back to Life, sacrificing a father she thought was dead and comforting an ancient legend of their world. She has traveled into the worlds Beyond, striding confidently past their borders while the crown of Nerine was left hanging in the weather-worn trees for a spotted confidant. These experiences and more have sharpened and weakened her, forging her like metal in red-hot flames until she becomes a fierce sword.
And swords are rarely afraid.
The stranger becomes a stranger with a name, which suits Wishbone well enough to lower the mammoth tusk. It floats down until it drops softly on the snow at her feet, nearly disappearing into the darkness that clings to their heels. She wishes for Tephra’s molten lava here. It could then scare the shadows from their ankles, where she feels as vulnerable as a newborn mouse. A chilly sensation traces its fingers up her spine, and Wishbone visibly shivers. She wonders for a moment how a breeze could reach the thick of the woods, but Mazikeen’s question draws her attention away.
“There are many things it could be for, but you’re not one of them.” Her amber eyes are bright with humor, even while her skin crawls with the feeling of being watched. It could be a stranger watching them from the shadows, hesitant to join in their conversation but comforted by the closeness of an alike creature. Despite Wishbone’s desire to believe this, she can’t bring herself to trust the idea entirely. “I’ve heard them, but I haven’t seen any.” Neither of them knows what or who the them are, but they both understand that there are things out in the heavy darkness, whatever they might be. “Have you?”
@[Mazikeen]