☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"The mouth was open / stretched wide in a call or howl / (there was no tongue) / of agony, ultimate / command or simple famine. / The canine teeth ranged back / into the throat and vanished. / The mouth was filled with darkness. / The darkness in the open mouth / uttered itself, pushing / aside the light."
"The mouth was open / stretched wide in a call or howl / (there was no tongue) / of agony, ultimate / command or simple famine. / The canine teeth ranged back / into the throat and vanished. / The mouth was filled with darkness. / The darkness in the open mouth / uttered itself, pushing / aside the light."
It’s cold – almost violently cold – on Veneror.
Winter is different, in Solterra. In Solterra, winter only chills at night, and, even then, the chill does not have much of a bite. Here, the wind is so strong that it could nearly knock me from the narrow, winding path up the mountainside. Here, the wind is so cold that it buries itself in my bones and lingers. Here, the wind has a bite that makes my teeth hurt. I proceed up the ice-slick stairs regardless. My hooves slide beneath my weight almost every step; the unsteady movements leave a perpetual sense of unease gnawing in my chest, as though, at any moment, I could fall off the side of the cliff and tumble-
down
down
down.
For what it is worth – although I come from a family of priests, I have never been religious.
I’m sure that things like faith used to matter. I’m sure they used to mean – something. But now that we know that the gods are real, now that we know that they exist, and now, most of all, that we know of their fickleness, I see little point in worshipping them. My slow pilgrimage to Solis’s alter is not a matter of devotion (I am not sure that I am devoted to anything); it is a matter of obligation.
So – I am picking my way up the icy slope, incense and matches hovering in the air alongside me, in spite of the cold.
Ishak is just behind me. I know that he didn’t want to go. The weather on the mountain changes quickly, and, at this time of the year, it can be quite dangerous; blinding snowstorms, vicious hail, sleet so slick that it will send you cascading off the mountainside. Still, I have made this trip every winter before this, and I don’t expect that this time will be much different.
I make this trip every season. You would think that I would have a better grasp of where we are on the mountainside, but I can only say for sure that we are high; I have no concept of the miles we have left to climb, nor the time it will take to reach the peak. (All I can say with confidence is that I am hoping that it is close. There are always fires burning at the altar in the cathedral, and the reprieve from winter’s biting chill would be welcome.)
In the distance, dark clouds are blooming on the horizon, thick and heavy with moisture; I grimace, noting the direction of the wind, and risk a look back over my shoulder at Ishak. “It looks like a storm is moving in,” I say, tilting my head in the direction of the clouds. “We should search for somewhere to wait it out.” Veneror calls to pilgrims, no matter the season. There are plenty of shallow caves and hides on the path up the mountainside, often with supplies left behind to aid fellow travelers.
All we need to do is find the next one.
@Ishak || questionable quality starter RIP but Ilu || atwood, "projected slide of an unknown soldier"
Winter is different, in Solterra. In Solterra, winter only chills at night, and, even then, the chill does not have much of a bite. Here, the wind is so strong that it could nearly knock me from the narrow, winding path up the mountainside. Here, the wind is so cold that it buries itself in my bones and lingers. Here, the wind has a bite that makes my teeth hurt. I proceed up the ice-slick stairs regardless. My hooves slide beneath my weight almost every step; the unsteady movements leave a perpetual sense of unease gnawing in my chest, as though, at any moment, I could fall off the side of the cliff and tumble-
down
down
down.
For what it is worth – although I come from a family of priests, I have never been religious.
I’m sure that things like faith used to matter. I’m sure they used to mean – something. But now that we know that the gods are real, now that we know that they exist, and now, most of all, that we know of their fickleness, I see little point in worshipping them. My slow pilgrimage to Solis’s alter is not a matter of devotion (I am not sure that I am devoted to anything); it is a matter of obligation.
So – I am picking my way up the icy slope, incense and matches hovering in the air alongside me, in spite of the cold.
Ishak is just behind me. I know that he didn’t want to go. The weather on the mountain changes quickly, and, at this time of the year, it can be quite dangerous; blinding snowstorms, vicious hail, sleet so slick that it will send you cascading off the mountainside. Still, I have made this trip every winter before this, and I don’t expect that this time will be much different.
I make this trip every season. You would think that I would have a better grasp of where we are on the mountainside, but I can only say for sure that we are high; I have no concept of the miles we have left to climb, nor the time it will take to reach the peak. (All I can say with confidence is that I am hoping that it is close. There are always fires burning at the altar in the cathedral, and the reprieve from winter’s biting chill would be welcome.)
In the distance, dark clouds are blooming on the horizon, thick and heavy with moisture; I grimace, noting the direction of the wind, and risk a look back over my shoulder at Ishak. “It looks like a storm is moving in,” I say, tilting my head in the direction of the clouds. “We should search for somewhere to wait it out.” Veneror calls to pilgrims, no matter the season. There are plenty of shallow caves and hides on the path up the mountainside, often with supplies left behind to aid fellow travelers.
All we need to do is find the next one.
@
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
