03-15-2011, 04:39 AM
792.
Cold, chilled air seemed to settle deep within her body, settled unsettlingly beneath her thin skin. Winter resided within her delicate body, bending her shoulders forward and folding her arms against themselves as she huddled in unsuccessful attempts to create warmth by folding her body in on itself. It was useless, and she felt weariness sinking deep into her brittle bones, her thin arms useless as they hung at her sides.
Jefferson had left some time ago for AniWaya, as he would now act as a temporary leader for the tribe. As much as she yearned to have him near, she could not begrudge the Valley pack's ally in their time of need. They were many, and she was but one. She sank slowly to the floor, letting her back slide against the wall until her knees folded beneath her on the floor. She braced her hands on the ground, lime green eyes settling on her fingers, thin as reeds, spindly and strange. She did not recognize them as her own.
This winter had brought many hardships upon those residing within this Valley. She did not think herself alone in this, but she felt completely and utterly tired and drained with each passing day. Her slight body seemed to whittle away at itself with each day, and although her eyes were not sunken and her bones did not yet starkly outline her abdomen, she did not think it would be long. Provisions were scarce, but she did eat. If only when she had the appetite, which had not been often in the weeks since the horrific storm. Or had it been affected prior to that? She could not think that far back; she could not focus. She stared listlessly at her bitter hands, splayed uselessly upon the wooden floor of the church. She could not put her finger on why this feeling seemed so familiar, like a staticky sensory memory that did not even belong to her.
She pulled air into her reluctant lungs, the sting of the cold making the action acutely unpleasant. With a sigh uncurling from her expanded chest, she shifted her weight so that she rested completely upon the floor, her knees and legs curled around her. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, lifting her arms to run her fingers through her short, curling hair. Lime green eyes flashed open as she felt the strands tangle with her fingers, lifting cleanly from her scalp under the gentle touch. She brought her hands before her face, seeing a hank of the gently curling hair resting between her fingers. She touched the top of her head gingerly with one hand, feeling the thinness of her mane, dropping the freed strands from her limp fingers.
She contemplated her slowly withering hands, considered how her coat had been thinning for weeks, despite the fact that spring and the heat of the sun were weeks away. She contemplated how the pieces of her beautiful life had been lost like grains of sand through a sieve, impossible to recapture. How things had changed. How her home now laid in shambles. How her mate now seemed to float through the ether, in obvious pain, but too proud and dutiful to stop for adequate rest. How her beloved child harbored shadows within his beautiful oceanic eyes, so much like her father's...
How her father's eyes had shined fever bright from within his withered face, although they no longer held recognition. How his once strong body had succumbed to the morbid grip of cold, withering away day by day, until his form was unrecognizable. How in a matter of weeks, Jordan had joined him, too weak to hold his head up as he muttered incoherently about the cold. The unending cold that held him more tightly than she could. He had died with her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her face next to his own sunken eyes as she whispered and pleaded for him to stay, to fight, to take the warmth from her body. But the cold had washed him away. At first it had hit him with the force of a turbulent ocean, but he had been swept away by a gentle tide, making his battle against it seem feeble and meaningless, his last breath barely the quiet whisper of release...
She pounded her fist against the wooden panels of the floor with enough force to make the wood groan. She split her knuckles open, cracking her dry skin. Her flesh parted easily, and she watched as blood welled into the creases of broken flesh. This could not - COULD NOT be.
But she already knew that it was, and there was nothing on God's green earth that she could do about it.
Cold, chilled air seemed to settle deep within her body, settled unsettlingly beneath her thin skin. Winter resided within her delicate body, bending her shoulders forward and folding her arms against themselves as she huddled in unsuccessful attempts to create warmth by folding her body in on itself. It was useless, and she felt weariness sinking deep into her brittle bones, her thin arms useless as they hung at her sides.
Jefferson had left some time ago for AniWaya, as he would now act as a temporary leader for the tribe. As much as she yearned to have him near, she could not begrudge the Valley pack's ally in their time of need. They were many, and she was but one. She sank slowly to the floor, letting her back slide against the wall until her knees folded beneath her on the floor. She braced her hands on the ground, lime green eyes settling on her fingers, thin as reeds, spindly and strange. She did not recognize them as her own.
This winter had brought many hardships upon those residing within this Valley. She did not think herself alone in this, but she felt completely and utterly tired and drained with each passing day. Her slight body seemed to whittle away at itself with each day, and although her eyes were not sunken and her bones did not yet starkly outline her abdomen, she did not think it would be long. Provisions were scarce, but she did eat. If only when she had the appetite, which had not been often in the weeks since the horrific storm. Or had it been affected prior to that? She could not think that far back; she could not focus. She stared listlessly at her bitter hands, splayed uselessly upon the wooden floor of the church. She could not put her finger on why this feeling seemed so familiar, like a staticky sensory memory that did not even belong to her.
She pulled air into her reluctant lungs, the sting of the cold making the action acutely unpleasant. With a sigh uncurling from her expanded chest, she shifted her weight so that she rested completely upon the floor, her knees and legs curled around her. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, lifting her arms to run her fingers through her short, curling hair. Lime green eyes flashed open as she felt the strands tangle with her fingers, lifting cleanly from her scalp under the gentle touch. She brought her hands before her face, seeing a hank of the gently curling hair resting between her fingers. She touched the top of her head gingerly with one hand, feeling the thinness of her mane, dropping the freed strands from her limp fingers.
She contemplated her slowly withering hands, considered how her coat had been thinning for weeks, despite the fact that spring and the heat of the sun were weeks away. She contemplated how the pieces of her beautiful life had been lost like grains of sand through a sieve, impossible to recapture. How things had changed. How her home now laid in shambles. How her mate now seemed to float through the ether, in obvious pain, but too proud and dutiful to stop for adequate rest. How her beloved child harbored shadows within his beautiful oceanic eyes, so much like her father's...
How her father's eyes had shined fever bright from within his withered face, although they no longer held recognition. How his once strong body had succumbed to the morbid grip of cold, withering away day by day, until his form was unrecognizable. How in a matter of weeks, Jordan had joined him, too weak to hold his head up as he muttered incoherently about the cold. The unending cold that held him more tightly than she could. He had died with her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her face next to his own sunken eyes as she whispered and pleaded for him to stay, to fight, to take the warmth from her body. But the cold had washed him away. At first it had hit him with the force of a turbulent ocean, but he had been swept away by a gentle tide, making his battle against it seem feeble and meaningless, his last breath barely the quiet whisper of release...
She pounded her fist against the wooden panels of the floor with enough force to make the wood groan. She split her knuckles open, cracking her dry skin. Her flesh parted easily, and she watched as blood welled into the creases of broken flesh. This could not - COULD NOT be.
But she already knew that it was, and there was nothing on God's green earth that she could do about it.