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it wasn't often that aėrith found herself with a predicament;
but neither was that entirely the truth, either; she did not like to wonder at the moments of an old life lived, tossed through her shrouded memory as gods would with gold marks. but she knew that there had been several such times in a tundra ( not unlike the one she tread over this night and last morn ) where she had been faced with one misfortune or another. yet, of them all, only good had sprung out of one.
one, where, if she were to rest a moment, she might still hear that whisper-thin croon of 'kuunhekku' at the velvet cusp of ear.
no! —
let it stay dead and gone.
let him turn to ash in her soul.
before she could bear the burn of silver in her throat once more.
even so, she felt so horribly distant from her mists;
from her daughters and the smattering of followers;
everything and, as always, more than it all.
but she must close her heart to it;
make iron the marrow of her bones.
( she was sotaherra, was she not? )
some ways away, what she'd managed to forage at the garden hours prior lie unacknowledged. her lips press together in a thin line as she tries once more;
leaning with what weight she has into the crown of the skull-grin elk, heaving herself against the base of its antler.[/narrow]
tired weird post for @Kaster ♡
it wasn't often that aėrith found herself with a predicament;
but neither was that entirely the truth, either; she did not like to wonder at the moments of an old life lived, tossed through her shrouded memory as gods would with gold marks. but she knew that there had been several such times in a tundra ( not unlike the one she tread over this night and last morn ) where she had been faced with one misfortune or another. yet, of them all, only good had sprung out of one.
one, where, if she were to rest a moment, she might still hear that whisper-thin croon of 'kuunhekku' at the velvet cusp of ear.
no! —
let it stay dead and gone.
let him turn to ash in her soul.
before she could bear the burn of silver in her throat once more.
even so, she felt so horribly distant from her mists;
from her daughters and the smattering of followers;
everything and, as always, more than it all.
but she must close her heart to it;
make iron the marrow of her bones.
( she was sotaherra, was she not? )
some ways away, what she'd managed to forage at the garden hours prior lie unacknowledged. her lips press together in a thin line as she tries once more;
leaning with what weight she has into the crown of the skull-grin elk, heaving herself against the base of its antler.[/narrow]
the staff team luvs u
