volcan
Burn slow, burning up the back wall
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear will not die
Long roads, where the city meets the sky
Most days, most days stay the sole same
Please stay, for this fear will not die
The smokey woman noticed the bruises across her, the trauma so clearly marked in her flesh… The mare before her had not had an easy life (not that she needed to see bruises to know that a mare considering throwing herself off a cliff had not had an easy life). Nobody has an easy life these days. It’s all wars and insecurities and lands falling in on each other and what not.
he’s gone the stranger says and Volcan scrunches her face up briefly, trying to figure it out. Fortunately she is not only blessed with good looks, but also a functional brain, so it doesn’t take long. ”Dead.” she says, tilting her head. Oh, Volcan knew the dead. She knew how that felt.
She sniffs, considers her words for a moment. She’s no silver-tongued diplomat (more smoke and fire than smooth stream), but it is what it is. ”They say that you die two deaths. The first, when you physically pass. The second… well, when your name is spoken for the last time.” She snorts with derision. The mare is strangely composed for one considering such desperate matters but… Perhaps it’s freedom from choice. Perhaps she’s not conflicted. Hell, maybe she has already decided that she’s dead.
But Volcan tries anyway, because nobody has ever taught her how to surrender.
”So go on then, go and fucking die. But he’ll die with you. His memory will die with you. Who will remember him as you do, hmm? Who will talk about him like you can?” she sighs and shakes her head.
”And die for nothing! What a waste!”
She’s shouting now, above the screaming wind, flinching from the rain lashing her face. At any moment, Nymf could fall. Volcan needs to find cover. Every inch of her trembles with the desire to run and hide and seek shelter. The instinct to seek shelter is one of the most deeply ingrained instincts in any living thing, and it is screaming, louder than the wind can rattle in her eardrums. She wants to run.
She takes a step forward instead.
Because nobody has ever taught her how to give up.
”Or you could come with me. Come with me and make something of yourself, something that he’d be proud of. Hell, avenge him if it pleases you!”
She braces herself against the oncoming storm, trying to get her mass as close to the ground as possible. She can’t wait much longer, neither of them can.