filling jars full of silence.

Eris Eternity · 06-12-2011, 04:12 AM

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Word Count » 425
no biggie broseph, sorry for mine :O

the world shudders as the worm gets its wings

The shadow-furred woman would be four come summer, and in some ways, she was very old. In others, she was but a child -- she lacked the maturity, patience, and foresight one her age might have attained, but still deeper parts of her were as old as the dirt on the ground and the dust in the wind. Seeing was an old art, she knew, and some deeper part of her had lived many lives before Eris Eternity. Her old blood was not quite so powerful a shade as whatever had dwelled within Haku Soul, of course -- it was so weak, it might only live when Eris called upon it. The hybrid wondered if it was enough to pass along to her children; she had yet to test Pandemic or Salvia in the ways of divination. Part of her was afraid to.

The coyote smiled, a faint and distant smile, though her eyes quickly moved away from the flame to Tlantli's face, studying the sharp, coyote angles of it. Her ears were large, her muzzle small, but she was no less powerful and no less beautiful for it. Eris refused the speciesism that had plagued her mother. There was no judging on blood alone, and the scarred woman might have learned that, with all her wolf lovers and wolf children, but Eris did not think she had. It did not matter -- that was no longer family. This was now, and this was a stronger-woven family than anything Inferni crafted.

“I am made strong and smart by you and the rest of Salsola,” the coyote said, for once demure in her acceptance of the compliment. “Salvia will be stronger and smarter still, raised in our midst,” she added, smiling very nearly dreamily at this thought. To see her daughter grow proud and powerful within the pack would be an achievement nearly as wonderful as her coronation and the foundation of Salsola. At the straw-hued woman's words, the hybrid's midnight-hued ears perked, and she nodded, tacit agreement to whatever request Tlantli might make.

“Of course,” Eris responded, warmth in her voice. She was not so practiced with this art that it would be beautiful, but the mark they had chosen was straight lines and gentle curves, far easier than a tightly curled spiral. “Should we do this now?” the sable-hued woman said, eager to begin. She did not firmly recall all that had gone into her own scarification, but Tlantli had her own scars, and they might compose the ritual together as they went, even.

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