03-22-2023, 06:20 PM
wu
go ahead and say death is a thief
He trusted nothing - but isn’t that how it always goes? Beqanna churns out darkened souls like cogs in a machine. Although, it is hard to trust anything when all you have known are the trees and the dead. There is quiet in the trees, perhaps quite similar to the pressing of water where all of you should be. There is quiet in the dead too, sometimes (although their voices always linger, sometimes never stop).
He rarely leaves the womb of the trees. And why should he? They are the only thing unchanging, everlasting. While he had fettered away his years in the woods - the world had changed (and would continue changing, he supposed). But the timber that arched around him would continue growing, continue changing in its own familiar way. It changed him, too. But that is to be expected, when you only speak with the souls of the dead for so long.
He would prefer to stay here, in the sullen and shadow soaked woods. He felt the churn of the world, felt it changing again (and again, and again). But here? Here he was safe, here he was secluded. Here he worried about nothing but the flora and fauna that he played with to his content, and the dead that he reaped when he felt in need of company.
He was not dead, though, unlike his friends that wove between the thickets. Wu, sadly, needed nourishment. Days passed since the rumbling from deep inside the world, and still Wu refused to leave the wood - surviving off the dew that was pocketed amidst the flowers he grew. He did not want to see, he did not want more change.
Survival outwins us all, though. In the last dregs of day, he quietly slinks to the edges of the wood, heading towards his usual nook of the river to satiate his thirst. The bleeding rays of sun seep slowly into the horizon, and he is quite assured of his safety and solitude. Until he sees the unmistakable eyes of an equine, followed by two swiveling ears. In the goddamn river.
“What the fuck?”