☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"I CAME TO KNOW what your absence always means. Cliff. Every day knived sharper and doused in electricity."
"I CAME TO KNOW what your absence always means. Cliff. Every day knived sharper and doused in electricity."
I have always felt closer to the ocean than any Solterran should.
If anyone asks – I’ll politely cite the alleged rumors that Mother crafted my siblings and I from things, not bore of us of blood and sinew. If anyone asks – I won’t say a word, but I’ll turn my head towards the rocks that compose the seaside cliffs, and perhaps you will see them, too, in the arc of my neck, in the rugged dark-and-light of my skin. Let them think what they will. I, unfortunately, know the truth, but I have very little interest in telling it to anyone else.
There is a storm over the sea today. I have come looking for kelp – or seaweed, or both. Most of my patients don’t much like the taste of them (claim that it is “fishy,” although most of them are neither carnivores nor omnivores), but they are nutritionally dense, and I sneak bits of them into their food when they aren’t looking. During the winter, when food is scarcer regardless, I always have to find a bit more.
Today, I am alone. I don’t know where Ishak is, exactly – he said something about urgent business before he left this morning, but he didn’t elaborate on what the business was. It makes me assume that it is related to his previous occupation, but I didn’t ask. (He didn’t give me time to; he was out the door nearly as soon as I awoke.) Today, I am alone, with nothing but the screech of gulls and wind for company, and I almost feel strange about it.
Ishak does not like for me to go much of anywhere alone. He is a near-omnipresent figure in my life; I don’t mind, but I won’t let myself be kept in some birdcage, either. (After all, I am no bird – like all the rest of my family, I am a serpent, though unlike most of them, I do not often bare my teeth.) I have work to do, whether he is present or not, so I left some time after he did and made for the coast, picked my way past the docks and the bustle of the capitol until I found a stretch of unoccupied shore. It is easier to find things, further out, and quieter.
(That only means that no one will hear you if you scream, a voice distinctly reminiscent of Ishak insists, in the back of my head. That only means that no one will be here to help you, if something goes wrong.)
It’s paranoia. I worked alone for years, before he tried to kill me, and I was fine.
I lean close to the cliffs on a narrow stretch of shore, my hooves slipping on the thin bank of rock between the cliffs and the sea; the waves plunge up, covering their dark surface with a fine skim of saltwater and foam. I keep walking. If I just make it through this narrow corridor, I can see a stretch of beach ahead.
The rocks and barnacles dig into my skin. They draw shallow cuts; not even deep enough to bleed. I press forward, gritting my teeth, and I don’t think of falling into the water and drowning. Instead, I think of the press of stone at my shoulder and the bone-pale strip of shoreline ahead, just out of reach.
I cascade – finally – from the outcropping of rock and down onto wet shore, shaking my saltwater-slick hair out of my eyes. I am sure, with an ugly mingling of tide and cold sweat caught in my fur, that I do not look much like the daughter of a noble house. That suits me fine.
My hooves dig moons into the shoreline, and I look out towards the waves – long enough to note the way that they are growing larger and hungrier, long enough to catch my breath.
@Leto || >D || shira erlichman, "ode to lithium #107"
If anyone asks – I’ll politely cite the alleged rumors that Mother crafted my siblings and I from things, not bore of us of blood and sinew. If anyone asks – I won’t say a word, but I’ll turn my head towards the rocks that compose the seaside cliffs, and perhaps you will see them, too, in the arc of my neck, in the rugged dark-and-light of my skin. Let them think what they will. I, unfortunately, know the truth, but I have very little interest in telling it to anyone else.
There is a storm over the sea today. I have come looking for kelp – or seaweed, or both. Most of my patients don’t much like the taste of them (claim that it is “fishy,” although most of them are neither carnivores nor omnivores), but they are nutritionally dense, and I sneak bits of them into their food when they aren’t looking. During the winter, when food is scarcer regardless, I always have to find a bit more.
Today, I am alone. I don’t know where Ishak is, exactly – he said something about urgent business before he left this morning, but he didn’t elaborate on what the business was. It makes me assume that it is related to his previous occupation, but I didn’t ask. (He didn’t give me time to; he was out the door nearly as soon as I awoke.) Today, I am alone, with nothing but the screech of gulls and wind for company, and I almost feel strange about it.
Ishak does not like for me to go much of anywhere alone. He is a near-omnipresent figure in my life; I don’t mind, but I won’t let myself be kept in some birdcage, either. (After all, I am no bird – like all the rest of my family, I am a serpent, though unlike most of them, I do not often bare my teeth.) I have work to do, whether he is present or not, so I left some time after he did and made for the coast, picked my way past the docks and the bustle of the capitol until I found a stretch of unoccupied shore. It is easier to find things, further out, and quieter.
(That only means that no one will hear you if you scream, a voice distinctly reminiscent of Ishak insists, in the back of my head. That only means that no one will be here to help you, if something goes wrong.)
It’s paranoia. I worked alone for years, before he tried to kill me, and I was fine.
I lean close to the cliffs on a narrow stretch of shore, my hooves slipping on the thin bank of rock between the cliffs and the sea; the waves plunge up, covering their dark surface with a fine skim of saltwater and foam. I keep walking. If I just make it through this narrow corridor, I can see a stretch of beach ahead.
The rocks and barnacles dig into my skin. They draw shallow cuts; not even deep enough to bleed. I press forward, gritting my teeth, and I don’t think of falling into the water and drowning. Instead, I think of the press of stone at my shoulder and the bone-pale strip of shoreline ahead, just out of reach.
I cascade – finally – from the outcropping of rock and down onto wet shore, shaking my saltwater-slick hair out of my eyes. I am sure, with an ugly mingling of tide and cold sweat caught in my fur, that I do not look much like the daughter of a noble house. That suits me fine.
My hooves dig moons into the shoreline, and I look out towards the waves – long enough to note the way that they are growing larger and hungrier, long enough to catch my breath.
@Leto || >D || shira erlichman, "ode to lithium #107"
HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
