09-16-2009, 10:44 AM
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Sorry for the wait!
500+
The white orbs considered the boy, her expression unmoved and impassive. Her eyes seemed to glow in the half-light of the woods as she lingered in the silence. "I sought him," the quiet alto confirmed, "but I had sought another and, having found the other, had already battled when I found him." The wounds that Brennt had savaged upon her had made her body slow, had made it cold in the rain as it had washed away the blood that flowed so freely from her. Her encounter with the crow-wolf had been met with battle, but the battle had been brief. It had been a defeat rendered swiftly, and for her weakness she had been subdued, unable to ward the inevitable mounting of that utter blackness upon her soul. Save for that branded ‘darkness’, her father had not physically marked his daughter. "I knew defeat," the melody continued with open admittance, "but he is dead." And his remains, she had seen briefly upon her departure from Onus’ abode, had been burned with a purging fire. And yet the spirit of the crow wolf was not purged and lingered in the air of existence, coming to her in the waking hours with a whisper of a touch that thrilled the warrior’s soul as it should not. The mar upon her soul, created with her own conception, drew darkness into her soul like a sweet elixir.
"You should not be troubled by my death," the alto voice sang with light tones, and she spoke as if Death had already claimed her. "Death will come for me when it shall. It is preordained." It is inevitable. Because the woad warrior so easily was able to remove herself, to distance herself, from life, she did not understand the concern that others had with the death of a friend or a close one. Indeed, the black fae felt the desire to preserve life, and she felt it keenly with Onus and her Twins, but she would be able to persist even if they were taken from her. Sadness would crash upon her soul like the waves of the eternal sea, and the light of her soul would be dimmed, but she could persist because she must, because it was ordained that she would persist until Death would come for her. But she and Onus were warriors, and Death was always hungrily upon their heels. The Twins already knew the taste of the practices of war, for they watched their mother as she practiced in the glade. They were protected by Cwmfen and Onus, and they were protected by the boarders of the pack. Death would come less eagerly for them.
A soft smile moved across the warrior’s maw as she nodded. The twins were certainly different, and yet they were the same. The black fae knew very little of what her body had undergone, of the bearing of life and of its birthing. But she supposed that the similarity between the two pups had caused her confusion, had rendered her ability to sense them individually within her into silence. Two and yet one. Their souls shone brightly as one, held by different shapes and different bodies. The woad-banded ears lifted at the sounding of the boy’s voice, and there was no hesitation as she responded to the golden coyote. "Like the Moon and the Night," the soft song sang with a silent susurrus. They were both creatures from the night. The light of the Sun was warm, but it was not the Golden Orb that had graced their birth. They were different, perhaps as the Sun and the Moon were, but they were also the same. They were from the same Night. One was bright, the other dark—a dichotomous existence.
Sorry for the wait!
500+
The white orbs considered the boy, her expression unmoved and impassive. Her eyes seemed to glow in the half-light of the woods as she lingered in the silence. "I sought him," the quiet alto confirmed, "but I had sought another and, having found the other, had already battled when I found him." The wounds that Brennt had savaged upon her had made her body slow, had made it cold in the rain as it had washed away the blood that flowed so freely from her. Her encounter with the crow-wolf had been met with battle, but the battle had been brief. It had been a defeat rendered swiftly, and for her weakness she had been subdued, unable to ward the inevitable mounting of that utter blackness upon her soul. Save for that branded ‘darkness’, her father had not physically marked his daughter. "I knew defeat," the melody continued with open admittance, "but he is dead." And his remains, she had seen briefly upon her departure from Onus’ abode, had been burned with a purging fire. And yet the spirit of the crow wolf was not purged and lingered in the air of existence, coming to her in the waking hours with a whisper of a touch that thrilled the warrior’s soul as it should not. The mar upon her soul, created with her own conception, drew darkness into her soul like a sweet elixir.
"You should not be troubled by my death," the alto voice sang with light tones, and she spoke as if Death had already claimed her. "Death will come for me when it shall. It is preordained." It is inevitable. Because the woad warrior so easily was able to remove herself, to distance herself, from life, she did not understand the concern that others had with the death of a friend or a close one. Indeed, the black fae felt the desire to preserve life, and she felt it keenly with Onus and her Twins, but she would be able to persist even if they were taken from her. Sadness would crash upon her soul like the waves of the eternal sea, and the light of her soul would be dimmed, but she could persist because she must, because it was ordained that she would persist until Death would come for her. But she and Onus were warriors, and Death was always hungrily upon their heels. The Twins already knew the taste of the practices of war, for they watched their mother as she practiced in the glade. They were protected by Cwmfen and Onus, and they were protected by the boarders of the pack. Death would come less eagerly for them.
A soft smile moved across the warrior’s maw as she nodded. The twins were certainly different, and yet they were the same. The black fae knew very little of what her body had undergone, of the bearing of life and of its birthing. But she supposed that the similarity between the two pups had caused her confusion, had rendered her ability to sense them individually within her into silence. Two and yet one. Their souls shone brightly as one, held by different shapes and different bodies. The woad-banded ears lifted at the sounding of the boy’s voice, and there was no hesitation as she responded to the golden coyote. "Like the Moon and the Night," the soft song sang with a silent susurrus. They were both creatures from the night. The light of the Sun was warm, but it was not the Golden Orb that had graced their birth. They were different, perhaps as the Sun and the Moon were, but they were also the same. They were from the same Night. One was bright, the other dark—a dichotomous existence.