Avesta was born first; just moments before me, but I have been following her ever since. It might seem like I’ve been trying to catch up, but I’m not- I realize the impossibility of that. In my eyes, my sister is a goddess. I well believe she could summon the sickle moon down from the sky and wield it like the reaper’s blade, with nothing more than the demanding tilt of her horn and a meaningful look.
And like a god she can be reckless, so I follow to pick her up when she falls, as she has done for me a hundred times. Because in this world there is nobody we can trust completely except each other (and our great wolves). There is and always has been a thread between us... a bond deeper than blood, older than time, stronger than distance. It waxes and wanes as we age, lunate in nature. The thinnest I felt it was when I stayed in Novus, and she sailed away. Not for the great physical separation between us but for our fundamental differences in the choice of which way to move forward. She was going outward, pressing onward; I was stalwart, looking in.
That evening as I brushed her long, blood-splattered mane from the sticky mess of her neck, I felt our bond snap us together again swift and sudden as though it had never been otherwise. She moaned and my heart leapt into my throat. Foras looked at me (so similar to his brother! But different in his own way, as me and my sister; each person their own) and as I looked back with steady eyes I realized it was not my heart in my throat but a ball fury. Pure fury, pulsing, barely contained.
She struggled to her feet and I growled in warning, wolfish. “Stay put, for once.” I nuzzled her cheek, a tender contrast to the assertion of my voice. Only when she spoke did I sigh, and allow myself a tense smile. The fury in my throat still trembled, but for now it was partially sated by her stirring and the sound of her voice.
“Coming.” Furfur’s voice broke into my mind as he began to run back to us. I began to wash the blood from my sister, cupping the sea and pouring it over the wounds as gently as I could; I knew it would sting. If I were Isra I would have a story. It would keep my sister still, her mind occupied. And if I were Eik I would fill her mind with the sensations of physical comfort: pressing against a warm rock on a cold morning in Solterra, dipping into the lake on a hot summer afternoon.
I was not my parents. I hummed softly as I worked, some peasant song I picked up from the weavers. I liked to watch them work, there was something mesmerizing about the steady, rhythmic back and forth of the loom. They tried to teach me once, but I didn’t have the patience for it. I learned their songs instead; or the songs took to me.
The cleaning was almost done, and Furfur was close. I only had one question, and after it I would not dwell on the matter any more-- at least for the moment. I would turn my focus wholeheartedly to the healing. “Who did this?” My gaze glanced between Avesta, Foras, and the ocean which reached again and again for my sister and drew back crimson. Greedy, the waves struck me as greedy. How much would it take from us, if we let it? How much would it give?
a s p a r a
And like a god she can be reckless, so I follow to pick her up when she falls, as she has done for me a hundred times. Because in this world there is nobody we can trust completely except each other (and our great wolves). There is and always has been a thread between us... a bond deeper than blood, older than time, stronger than distance. It waxes and wanes as we age, lunate in nature. The thinnest I felt it was when I stayed in Novus, and she sailed away. Not for the great physical separation between us but for our fundamental differences in the choice of which way to move forward. She was going outward, pressing onward; I was stalwart, looking in.
That evening as I brushed her long, blood-splattered mane from the sticky mess of her neck, I felt our bond snap us together again swift and sudden as though it had never been otherwise. She moaned and my heart leapt into my throat. Foras looked at me (so similar to his brother! But different in his own way, as me and my sister; each person their own) and as I looked back with steady eyes I realized it was not my heart in my throat but a ball fury. Pure fury, pulsing, barely contained.
She struggled to her feet and I growled in warning, wolfish. “Stay put, for once.” I nuzzled her cheek, a tender contrast to the assertion of my voice. Only when she spoke did I sigh, and allow myself a tense smile. The fury in my throat still trembled, but for now it was partially sated by her stirring and the sound of her voice.
“Coming.” Furfur’s voice broke into my mind as he began to run back to us. I began to wash the blood from my sister, cupping the sea and pouring it over the wounds as gently as I could; I knew it would sting. If I were Isra I would have a story. It would keep my sister still, her mind occupied. And if I were Eik I would fill her mind with the sensations of physical comfort: pressing against a warm rock on a cold morning in Solterra, dipping into the lake on a hot summer afternoon.
I was not my parents. I hummed softly as I worked, some peasant song I picked up from the weavers. I liked to watch them work, there was something mesmerizing about the steady, rhythmic back and forth of the loom. They tried to teach me once, but I didn’t have the patience for it. I learned their songs instead; or the songs took to me.
The cleaning was almost done, and Furfur was close. I only had one question, and after it I would not dwell on the matter any more-- at least for the moment. I would turn my focus wholeheartedly to the healing. “Who did this?” My gaze glanced between Avesta, Foras, and the ocean which reached again and again for my sister and drew back crimson. Greedy, the waves struck me as greedy. How much would it take from us, if we let it? How much would it give?
@Avesta <3
