my roots run deep into the hollow
She isn’t there, when the man is dragged into the crowd and mauled as though he is an animal. As if are all just animals—feral, untamed, bloodthirsty. But one mouth says something, and then another, until Antiope finds the place where he had gone down into the crowd and she discovers something.
It does not look like the place of a battle.
Wars, they destroy the ground they claim. They leave bodies, drench the earth and the streets in blood. Even when the rains wash it all away and fallen soldiers are recovered, the place is forever haunted by the memories of dying breaths.
She finds this street unhaunted, and wonders why.
Nobody can answer her question, and Antiope leaves unsatisfied and bothered by it. She doesn’t know who the man was, but shouldn’t somebody remember him? Who will remember him? If he has been stricken unfairly from this world and has left behind someone terribly important… her gut twists, the lioness in her bones rumbles and it sounds like a name she is unwilling to admit.
The day grows long, and dark and deep and she does not sleep.
Oh, Antiope rarely sleeps. There is too much inside her, pushing, pressing—against her ribs, against her skin—for her to get any rest. Tonight, however, she does not sleep because there is a whisper in her thoughts and a vision behind her lids of eyes she does not want to remember and lips she cannot forget.
When the rain begins it is not a lullaby but a crying, keening, echoing crying. She cannot ignore it. She cannot fight the night, cannot toss and turn it away, try as she might. Antiope rises from her bed and ties up her hair and takes Theofos out into the muffled quiet of the night court streets. With a whisper her axe comes to life, lighting her path, and the rain hisses as it drops against the burning metal.
At the end of the alley, with Theofos’ light arching out wide, and throwing wild shadows, the tigress woman begins to think she’s actually dreaming. Part golden and dark as night, she cannot believe what her eyes are seeing, until the voice calls out a simple, “Hi.” Even in a rasp, she knows who it is not.
As she grows closer, Antiope dims Theofos and drops her axe slightly so that the light will not be directly in the other equine’s eyes but below them. Now, she sees the other woman is only the sun, brilliant and gold, with eyes like the sky. “Hello,” she responds, stopping almost too-close to the stranger.
The shadows wrap deeply around them as the dim light of her axe creates a soft cocoon. They are but puppets upon the walls, and Antiope’s jewel-blue eyes are bright, bright in the night. “A wonderful night for a stroll, then?” she says, and if there is a quirk to her lips and a spark in her eyes, it might not just be a trick of the light.
"Speaking."
It does not look like the place of a battle.
Wars, they destroy the ground they claim. They leave bodies, drench the earth and the streets in blood. Even when the rains wash it all away and fallen soldiers are recovered, the place is forever haunted by the memories of dying breaths.
She finds this street unhaunted, and wonders why.
Nobody can answer her question, and Antiope leaves unsatisfied and bothered by it. She doesn’t know who the man was, but shouldn’t somebody remember him? Who will remember him? If he has been stricken unfairly from this world and has left behind someone terribly important… her gut twists, the lioness in her bones rumbles and it sounds like a name she is unwilling to admit.
The day grows long, and dark and deep and she does not sleep.
Oh, Antiope rarely sleeps. There is too much inside her, pushing, pressing—against her ribs, against her skin—for her to get any rest. Tonight, however, she does not sleep because there is a whisper in her thoughts and a vision behind her lids of eyes she does not want to remember and lips she cannot forget.
When the rain begins it is not a lullaby but a crying, keening, echoing crying. She cannot ignore it. She cannot fight the night, cannot toss and turn it away, try as she might. Antiope rises from her bed and ties up her hair and takes Theofos out into the muffled quiet of the night court streets. With a whisper her axe comes to life, lighting her path, and the rain hisses as it drops against the burning metal.
At the end of the alley, with Theofos’ light arching out wide, and throwing wild shadows, the tigress woman begins to think she’s actually dreaming. Part golden and dark as night, she cannot believe what her eyes are seeing, until the voice calls out a simple, “Hi.” Even in a rasp, she knows who it is not.
As she grows closer, Antiope dims Theofos and drops her axe slightly so that the light will not be directly in the other equine’s eyes but below them. Now, she sees the other woman is only the sun, brilliant and gold, with eyes like the sky. “Hello,” she responds, stopping almost too-close to the stranger.
The shadows wrap deeply around them as the dim light of her axe creates a soft cocoon. They are but puppets upon the walls, and Antiope’s jewel-blue eyes are bright, bright in the night. “A wonderful night for a stroll, then?” she says, and if there is a quirk to her lips and a spark in her eyes, it might not just be a trick of the light.
@
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
