[M] Alban Hefin

Cwmfen nic Graine · 06-30-2010, 08:31 AM

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500+

The muscles spasmed.

Her fingers loosened in perfect time, as if the rhythms of the ritual sang clearly in her tranquil souls. The slick body of the living thing was sent to the flames of the Wreath, its cry of death rising up once more before being cut short. Perhaps the heart had burst or the mind been overwhelmed, but the woad-marked Dreamer drank in the sound that was sent to the heavens in the flame’s smoke. The one-eyed Raven called his mockery, taking flight as he skimmed the flames to guide that soul to the gods of Alban Hefin and offer them this sacrifice, this creature that lived in the nighttime face of Nemain. Without turning, woad-banded fingers lifted the wild thyme from the earth and it in after the rabbit. The gods would be pleased to taste the flesh of one seasoned with the leaves of appropriate flavor, and the wolf would devour it despite her own preferences.

The scent of thyme rose within the air, laced with the scent of burning flesh.

Her eyes, fixed upon the place of Death, lifted to find the pair of eyes in the darkness. They came with white carvings that called to the colour of her eyes. The Raven Dreamer watched them for long moments, the songs of silence broken only by the tongues of the flame and the popping of the oak. Her stance was low as if hunting, her body moving slightly as if guided by the muscle of a hunting snake. Feral with that Frenzy of Nemain, the Warrior, upon this night of magik, had grown less refined, had returned to the state that she had been born in. The lunar gaze, fixed now upon those intruding eyes, did not falter as Badb was taken up once more. The blade was thrust into the flames, the hot wreath engulfing it willingly. The burning meat was taken from the flame, cooked too rare and still dripping with blood. Placed before the wrens, Badb was returned to the earth once more. Then she changed, her form, distorted by the shadows and light of the flame, shattering to leave behind that most natural of shapes. And yet the eyes never left the orbs of flame that carved the dark air with white.

A call was given to the night, the dolorous song rising with the silver lace of night light.

The woad-bound maw lowered, the eyes finding that the flaming orbs, having carved white in the dark air, belonged to another canine. With eyes sharper than before, she could see the figure through the flames. She snarled, her hackles rising and strong, white teeth exposed. The woad tipped tail flickered as her harsh breath clawed through her hungering jaws. She challenged him to come, and yet, upon that night she did not promise Death to him. She promised only a Challenge. And then she would devour the sacrifice. “Come, Night-Carver,” the smooth, alto melody enticed. “Join with me.” The deep breathing calmed the bellicose fury of her features. Perhaps he would join her in the fire leaping, in the cleansing, and dance to the music of the silence.

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