09-13-2012, 05:40 PM
The day had been hard for him. Every day that his mother remained sequestered away increased the amount of tension that grew inside of his stomach. He was the walking wounded in his heart. But today was different, he had managed to catch some pheasants, he knew there was not a lot of food in the house for her to eat, and he would present them to her even if it meant breaking into his own house and baring the brunt of her aggression. She wouldn't kill him, not him her beloved son, not him the white god of the sun, overseer of the summer. Then like an apparition from his evil dreams there she was before his pale visage.
But.. no. This wasn't his mother. He stared, open jawed at the thin and sickly creature that stood before him. No! This was not his mother. Where was the warrior who had given all, given her home to protect her young family, had plunged into conflict and murdered to save her daughter, had bravely stood up to injustice and oppression. He was sickened and bile rose in the back of his throat, where was his mother, his Mahn. His light fingers clenched hard against the necks of the colorful birds he held, his claws dug into them.
She hadn't even noticed him yet, her eyes were closed tightly in pain. And then she did open her eyes and oh how he cringed at the suffering he saw there, the pain she held. Drawn by the wills of fate her face turned to face him and her eyes finally turned onto him, widening impossibly, filling with horror as she beheld his face. His feet moved of their own accord and he found himself stood before her, looking down at her. She didn't speak, didn't move, just continued to stare at him as he had done to her, mouth open in shock. The boy surprised himself by dropping to his knees in front of her and pressing the side of his face against her bony sternum, "Mahnaya."
But.. no. This wasn't his mother. He stared, open jawed at the thin and sickly creature that stood before him. No! This was not his mother. Where was the warrior who had given all, given her home to protect her young family, had plunged into conflict and murdered to save her daughter, had bravely stood up to injustice and oppression. He was sickened and bile rose in the back of his throat, where was his mother, his Mahn. His light fingers clenched hard against the necks of the colorful birds he held, his claws dug into them.
She hadn't even noticed him yet, her eyes were closed tightly in pain. And then she did open her eyes and oh how he cringed at the suffering he saw there, the pain she held. Drawn by the wills of fate her face turned to face him and her eyes finally turned onto him, widening impossibly, filling with horror as she beheld his face. His feet moved of their own accord and he found himself stood before her, looking down at her. She didn't speak, didn't move, just continued to stare at him as he had done to her, mouth open in shock. The boy surprised himself by dropping to his knees in front of her and pressing the side of his face against her bony sternum, "Mahnaya."