You know, I normally wouldn’t have been bothered at all to stumble upon a sinister, violent plant hell-bent on stealing my magic. (And by extension, I garnered, my life.) The unnatural, the magical, it didn’t phase me; if anything the opposite; I felt at ease among oddity. But those deceitful sunflowers… I had trusted them, and their betrayal shocked me. It was personal. It hurt.
It made me very angry.
And oh, the last thing I wanted to do was run. I was angry-- no, I was enraged. Enflamed. In that moment I so envied aunty Morr’s magic-- all I wanted was to set the entire island on fire. I could picture it after my rage had its way, a charred and crumbled smear on the map.
But before I could fight, I had to free myself. I struggled against the vines with a furious, desperate groan. My horn, and Furfur’s teeth, and Sarkan’s blade, working in frantic union. It was a kind of organized chaos that stuck out vividly in my memories.
I probably would have died that day if Sarkan was not there. Because when he told me to run as soon as I could, I listened. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I was completely panicking. I had the distant awareness that all logic had fled my mind, and his words, his direction, gave me something to hold on to as the world around me spun out of control.
My heart lept as the vines were cut. My legs soon followed, whirling me about so that the hateful flowers were at my back. “Go!” Was all I said, and I’m sure even that was superfluous. I was already running, legs pounding, heart hammering. I sensed Furfur wanted a fight, but not so much he would leave my side. He sprinted silently alongside me, a long low growl growing in him like a demon.
Behind us I heard the ground being ripped open by thick, violent roots. I so wanted to look back, but I didn’t dare. Not until we were across the bridge, back on Novus proper, where normal birds perched in normal trees and sang normal songs across a normal landscape. But the island looked normal from here. Peaceful. Enticing, even-- I found myself drawn to it, even knowing the wicked magic that lay in wait.
My lungs were burning, my sides were streaked with sweat. I wanted to cry, but it was very important to me that I did not do so in front of Sarkan. The farther we got, the more upset I became that he told me to run. The coward! We could have laid waste to those treacherous sunflowers. (I would continue to think of them-- it?-- as flowers for a long time to come, even knowing that is not really what they were)
I would always regret the way I left things. I would often think of Sarkan, with his cape and his knife, and I would wonder where he was, what he was doing. Did I become one of the stories he told? And if so, I wondered if he told it with a smile or a roll of the eyes.
But in that moment I felt unusually angry at him, even though he saved my life. I felt angry at the world. I suppose I don’t handle stress the way a normal person does. Or rather-- I didn't handle it at all. I didn't yet know how to, without my sister to lean against. ”Thank you, Sarkan,” I said grudgingly, with a heavy sigh. And because I didn’t feel like talking more, because I needed to be alone to process what in the world had just happened, I turned and I began to walk home. I tossed a few departing words over my shoulder: "See you around, yeah?"
But, of course, I wouldn't.
- - -
@Sarkan <3<3 a closer!
