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.
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Haena strode through the grasslands, feeling the soft, strident ferns brushing her bare legs. Summer shone, alight and alive with sounds and the living music of the land. Some distant memory of cold, hurt, dull, ice-like pain clambered in circles in the back of her mind, but she was lost in her senses, and couldn't hear its aching call.
Her feet were scarred with cuts and scratches, but we're as bare as the rest of her. A bird, some small creature, green and brown, hopped into her path. It was juvenile, some young thing that chirruped as if she were no danger. She wasn't. Haena stopped and dropped to her knees, offering the creature seeds from her hand. Where the bird pecked, small pinpricks of yellow flowers grew, and the woman stared at them wondrously. It wasn't every day that flowers grew from your skin. But... it was a dream, after all.
Laughter caught her attention. Voices, child-like, spun on the breeze that was warm and soft, laden with blossom and scent. Haena felt numb, walking towards the sound, but couldn't place it. Her feet carved circles in the grass, and she walked and walked as the sun rose and set and the face of Leth loomed high in the sky, pale yellow and gleaming bright against the summer stars.
Finally she collapsed as the moon set and the voices stopped and the stars faded until it was just her, the grass, and the goddess Caiyha, who had been watching the whole time without Haena realising.
The feeling of pain was approaching. She knew it, felt it burning, clutching her heart in its tight grip. The woman in the wilderness heard it then, the calls of the glassbeaks, and fear turned her gaze to the goddess. Why had she come out here? Here where they had died. Where she would die, too.
A glassbeak approached, striking in appearance, fierce and predatory. Haena was paralysed with fear and horror, naked and alone, her only weapons her hands that grasped at the waving, indifferent grass.
"Help me," she managed to croak, but Caiyha merely smiled. Please. The glassbeak tore at her then, and she screamed with mindless pain, and sorrow. Black oil poured from under her skin as she was eaten alive, but although she had screamed there was no hurt. Around her, grasses grew tall, sheltering her and her death. It was clandestine, secretive, peaceful. Just her, her goddess, and the handful of glassbeaks that clustered in the gloom.
Haena was nothing but a ghost now, a spirit outside it's body. The pain was gone, left in a puddle of blackness, shiny and rich, around her body. She bent and licked it, tasting oily, bitter fear, brittle-sweet pain, earth-and-ozone grief. But her form was detached from it, and she could not fathom the tastes any more.
Caiyha approached, her face alive with light and distance, like a solitary tree on the horizon, wearing robes of dancing grass.
"This is your home, child. You can neither master it nor give in to it. You must live it, become it."
She listened, feeling like she was floating into the heavens.
"You know what you must do."
She did know, and was seized with purpose. It filled her limbs with energy, making her whole again, giving her life back as grasses grew into her and birds filled her heart, and wild cats slunk into her legs, glassbeaks to her hands, and a horse, her horse, nestled into the space where Haena's head ought to be. She was whole, complete, and at peace.
Her eyes flickered as sunlight tickled them, and the herbalist awoke. The morning was soft. Tomas mumbled in his sleep nearby, and as she lay there gazing at her children's forms she felt a silvery tear of gratitude well and drop onto the furs. She felt undescribable. Her body thrummed with life, and she thanked Caiyha with all her being, speaking the words over and over inside as she smiled and kissed her son's cheek.
Live. In the moment, she felt peace..
..
2nd Spring 517 AV
Speech
Others
Speech
Others
Haena strode through the grasslands, feeling the soft, strident ferns brushing her bare legs. Summer shone, alight and alive with sounds and the living music of the land. Some distant memory of cold, hurt, dull, ice-like pain clambered in circles in the back of her mind, but she was lost in her senses, and couldn't hear its aching call.
Her feet were scarred with cuts and scratches, but we're as bare as the rest of her. A bird, some small creature, green and brown, hopped into her path. It was juvenile, some young thing that chirruped as if she were no danger. She wasn't. Haena stopped and dropped to her knees, offering the creature seeds from her hand. Where the bird pecked, small pinpricks of yellow flowers grew, and the woman stared at them wondrously. It wasn't every day that flowers grew from your skin. But... it was a dream, after all.
Laughter caught her attention. Voices, child-like, spun on the breeze that was warm and soft, laden with blossom and scent. Haena felt numb, walking towards the sound, but couldn't place it. Her feet carved circles in the grass, and she walked and walked as the sun rose and set and the face of Leth loomed high in the sky, pale yellow and gleaming bright against the summer stars.
Finally she collapsed as the moon set and the voices stopped and the stars faded until it was just her, the grass, and the goddess Caiyha, who had been watching the whole time without Haena realising.
The feeling of pain was approaching. She knew it, felt it burning, clutching her heart in its tight grip. The woman in the wilderness heard it then, the calls of the glassbeaks, and fear turned her gaze to the goddess. Why had she come out here? Here where they had died. Where she would die, too.
A glassbeak approached, striking in appearance, fierce and predatory. Haena was paralysed with fear and horror, naked and alone, her only weapons her hands that grasped at the waving, indifferent grass.
"Help me," she managed to croak, but Caiyha merely smiled. Please. The glassbeak tore at her then, and she screamed with mindless pain, and sorrow. Black oil poured from under her skin as she was eaten alive, but although she had screamed there was no hurt. Around her, grasses grew tall, sheltering her and her death. It was clandestine, secretive, peaceful. Just her, her goddess, and the handful of glassbeaks that clustered in the gloom.
Haena was nothing but a ghost now, a spirit outside it's body. The pain was gone, left in a puddle of blackness, shiny and rich, around her body. She bent and licked it, tasting oily, bitter fear, brittle-sweet pain, earth-and-ozone grief. But her form was detached from it, and she could not fathom the tastes any more.
Caiyha approached, her face alive with light and distance, like a solitary tree on the horizon, wearing robes of dancing grass.
"This is your home, child. You can neither master it nor give in to it. You must live it, become it."
She listened, feeling like she was floating into the heavens.
"You know what you must do."
She did know, and was seized with purpose. It filled her limbs with energy, making her whole again, giving her life back as grasses grew into her and birds filled her heart, and wild cats slunk into her legs, glassbeaks to her hands, and a horse, her horse, nestled into the space where Haena's head ought to be. She was whole, complete, and at peace.
Her eyes flickered as sunlight tickled them, and the herbalist awoke. The morning was soft. Tomas mumbled in his sleep nearby, and as she lay there gazing at her children's forms she felt a silvery tear of gratitude well and drop onto the furs. She felt undescribable. Her body thrummed with life, and she thanked Caiyha with all her being, speaking the words over and over inside as she smiled and kissed her son's cheek.
Live. In the moment, she felt peace.
.
