02-11-2016, 08:28 PM
yael
There were a thousand accusations in each of their screams, all asking why, why, why do you get to live?
She thought her nostrils might be permanently scorched, olfactory senses tattooed with burning hair and flesh. She might never smell the sweet, sweet scent of water again.
Each night beneath his tree, she willed herself to step away from the precipice. Do not go down that road, she told herself, there is no one to replace you.
Do not follow him so blindly into the dark, do not go where you do not know the path; do not attempt what you cannot undo.
She cursed her poison-laced name to Adonai and wondered how she missed the treachery of marble skin, how she could relish in the coolness against her heat.
With blood beneath the monster’s hooves, she issued a death sentence to her child’s mother, forcing herself to believe that the beast would one day get her comeuppance.
For all this, she is radiant. Never forgetting, always keeping their names on her lips and their life-songs in her heart. Aviva. Esther. Abba, Ima, Levi, Aaron. Their silent voices echo through an empty Kingdom, and she can hear too much. It is unsettling. Yael loves their quiet, grumpy lion home, but there is something to be said about the joyful peal of voices reaching across the oasis. For new blood. For friends. And so she leaves again, heading to the Field in search of someone who might want to call the Desert home. For this - she cheats. Just a little. No more than a feathery tap on the shoulder to those who can feel it, and oblivious to those whose minds have not yet opened.
There are many here, and she is genuinely surprised; it seems that these days it is either feast or famine with the newcomers. The fine-boned, gold and silver mare ambles amongst the groups, sussing out the natures of individuals, looking for one who might fit in their little group. She finds two - a spotted, winged stallion, and a silvery-black mare - who look to be having a normal conversation. Demian, she picks out, and recognizes the name of the ex-King. Chalmette, she rolls off her mental tongue, and notes that it sound foreign, like hers, but in a different way. Yael approaches them, metallic wings drawn up against her sides, and a pleasant smile on her face.
“Xello,” she says with spritely vigor, though is careful not to seem too eager. “I xope I’m not eenterrupting…” She is, she knows. But that is the game they all play. Sometimes four or five can gather ‘round and nothing is guaranteed. “I ahm Yael.” She looks the gray mare up and down and casually, calmly asks her own question after she has finished answering Demian’s. “Ahr you new to B’kanna?”
She thought her nostrils might be permanently scorched, olfactory senses tattooed with burning hair and flesh. She might never smell the sweet, sweet scent of water again.
Each night beneath his tree, she willed herself to step away from the precipice. Do not go down that road, she told herself, there is no one to replace you.
Do not follow him so blindly into the dark, do not go where you do not know the path; do not attempt what you cannot undo.
She cursed her poison-laced name to Adonai and wondered how she missed the treachery of marble skin, how she could relish in the coolness against her heat.
With blood beneath the monster’s hooves, she issued a death sentence to her child’s mother, forcing herself to believe that the beast would one day get her comeuppance.
For all this, she is radiant. Never forgetting, always keeping their names on her lips and their life-songs in her heart. Aviva. Esther. Abba, Ima, Levi, Aaron. Their silent voices echo through an empty Kingdom, and she can hear too much. It is unsettling. Yael loves their quiet, grumpy lion home, but there is something to be said about the joyful peal of voices reaching across the oasis. For new blood. For friends. And so she leaves again, heading to the Field in search of someone who might want to call the Desert home. For this - she cheats. Just a little. No more than a feathery tap on the shoulder to those who can feel it, and oblivious to those whose minds have not yet opened.
There are many here, and she is genuinely surprised; it seems that these days it is either feast or famine with the newcomers. The fine-boned, gold and silver mare ambles amongst the groups, sussing out the natures of individuals, looking for one who might fit in their little group. She finds two - a spotted, winged stallion, and a silvery-black mare - who look to be having a normal conversation. Demian, she picks out, and recognizes the name of the ex-King. Chalmette, she rolls off her mental tongue, and notes that it sound foreign, like hers, but in a different way. Yael approaches them, metallic wings drawn up against her sides, and a pleasant smile on her face.
“Xello,” she says with spritely vigor, though is careful not to seem too eager. “I xope I’m not eenterrupting…” She is, she knows. But that is the game they all play. Sometimes four or five can gather ‘round and nothing is guaranteed. “I ahm Yael.” She looks the gray mare up and down and casually, calmly asks her own question after she has finished answering Demian’s. “Ahr you new to B’kanna?”