kindred
Drift gently...
The forest had been her home these past two and a half years. Wren had last left here and not returned and Kindred was determined to find some sign of her tracks, a symbol of her presence. She would not stop until she had located her other half.
They had not been separated like this before - not for this long! Such distance had started to tear at Kindred’s already frayed mind. Each piece shuffled around as she tried to solve the riddle before her. Minutes seemed like hours, days like weeks. Soon she wasn’t even quite sure if it was really day or night, but none of that mattered. She had to find Wren.
The forest blanketed her in the darkness that almost felt as if she were sheltered under Wren’s wing each night and allowed her to get what little sleep her racing mind offered. Yet, her eyes still grew wilder with each rest until she started to lose hold of herself. More and more frequently she clung to her enchanted pendant, reliant upon it to block out the world just long enough for her heart to stop beating from her chest. The patterns grew, compulsive tendencies which fueled the belief that if they were completed Wren would come back to her. What was once used to help cope with the feelings of death as breath escaped her lungs and adrenaline rushed through her veins was now turning into a hindrance.
Did Kindred realize how much these rituals hurt her though? The correct answer would be no, she did not.
Any hope of finding a trail of Wren had long passed, yet as the dawn managed to pull through the tiniest of openings in the forest’s canopy Kindred began her morning routine once more. A deep breath. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Repeated four more times. Perfectly straighten the bed of leaves into the semi-circle shape so it pushed right up against a nook in the roots of a looming tree. No leaf was allowed out of line for fear that it might cover a necessary track (a track that would most certainly be long gone almost three years later). Walk the same path that produced puddles of rainwater and drink sips in groups of five, careful not to kick any rocks or pebbles out of place. At the same time, she would scavenge for berries or edible brushes. Alas, rain puddles, berries, and brushes did not the best diet make, and even though she religious kept her coat clean one could begin to see her bones protruding along her withers, hips, and ribs.
Once satisfied she had eaten enough to have the energy to continue, she would return to where she slept to begin her search. Twenty sticks had been spread out in a circle around the tree, all jabbed into the ground as a marker for her. Five of them for each direction (north, south, east, and west). Last night she had replaced each of them as she had yanked the last one from the ground before walking straight along it’s line until she could hear the hooting of owls. Today she started at the southern-most stick and pulled it from its home, carefully laying it so that it rested at an angle against the thick root near her make-shift bed. She would walk this line until she heard the sounds of night animals once more.
Please let me find Wren. Please let there be a sign. Please. Please. Please...
Her hooves weren’t as nimble as before due to the lack of nutrition, but she tried her hardest to ensure she left no trace of her movements. Counting five steps, taking a deep breath and searching for anything different that might have been blown in, dug up, or brought to the surface from recent storms. Anything that would let her know Wren had been here. Anything that would allow her to find her (even if she was dead). Count to five. Ignore the ache in her legs. Count to five. Touch the pendent. The world isn’t collapsing around her. Count to five. Examine the new scrapes in the bark and determine it isn’t from Wren. Count to five. Plead to Oriens for a sign of her sister. Count to five. Ignore the taste of salt as tears run down her face. Refuse to stop moving.
It was probably sunset when she tried to turn back, but today she wasn’t able to. She spun on her haunches, a pain in her heart as she realized that she hadn’t even reached the overlapping “x’s” she had scrapped into the tree bark her last time this way. What if there is a sign of Wren further out there?! But it was night. She had to turn back. If she didn’t Wren was sure to be dead. She had to make it back to her leaf bed. Only fifteen steps and her limbs shook. This time it was not fear, it was exhaustion and malnutrition. Her body could not keep moving on. It needed rest. Days of it, with proper food. Five more steps and her rear legs folded under her. Gritting her teeth she tried to push herself back up but her front limbs crumpled under the additional strain.
Please don’t die because I failed. The world needs you...
She tried to accept it. Her nose pressed to the pendent. She’d have to rest here. Tomorrow she’d go back. She’d start over again the day after. She had to. She had to. She had to. She had to. She had to.
I won’t stop until I find you or this world kills me...
They had not been separated like this before - not for this long! Such distance had started to tear at Kindred’s already frayed mind. Each piece shuffled around as she tried to solve the riddle before her. Minutes seemed like hours, days like weeks. Soon she wasn’t even quite sure if it was really day or night, but none of that mattered. She had to find Wren.
The forest blanketed her in the darkness that almost felt as if she were sheltered under Wren’s wing each night and allowed her to get what little sleep her racing mind offered. Yet, her eyes still grew wilder with each rest until she started to lose hold of herself. More and more frequently she clung to her enchanted pendant, reliant upon it to block out the world just long enough for her heart to stop beating from her chest. The patterns grew, compulsive tendencies which fueled the belief that if they were completed Wren would come back to her. What was once used to help cope with the feelings of death as breath escaped her lungs and adrenaline rushed through her veins was now turning into a hindrance.
Did Kindred realize how much these rituals hurt her though? The correct answer would be no, she did not.
Any hope of finding a trail of Wren had long passed, yet as the dawn managed to pull through the tiniest of openings in the forest’s canopy Kindred began her morning routine once more. A deep breath. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Repeated four more times. Perfectly straighten the bed of leaves into the semi-circle shape so it pushed right up against a nook in the roots of a looming tree. No leaf was allowed out of line for fear that it might cover a necessary track (a track that would most certainly be long gone almost three years later). Walk the same path that produced puddles of rainwater and drink sips in groups of five, careful not to kick any rocks or pebbles out of place. At the same time, she would scavenge for berries or edible brushes. Alas, rain puddles, berries, and brushes did not the best diet make, and even though she religious kept her coat clean one could begin to see her bones protruding along her withers, hips, and ribs.
Once satisfied she had eaten enough to have the energy to continue, she would return to where she slept to begin her search. Twenty sticks had been spread out in a circle around the tree, all jabbed into the ground as a marker for her. Five of them for each direction (north, south, east, and west). Last night she had replaced each of them as she had yanked the last one from the ground before walking straight along it’s line until she could hear the hooting of owls. Today she started at the southern-most stick and pulled it from its home, carefully laying it so that it rested at an angle against the thick root near her make-shift bed. She would walk this line until she heard the sounds of night animals once more.
Please let me find Wren. Please let there be a sign. Please. Please. Please...
Her hooves weren’t as nimble as before due to the lack of nutrition, but she tried her hardest to ensure she left no trace of her movements. Counting five steps, taking a deep breath and searching for anything different that might have been blown in, dug up, or brought to the surface from recent storms. Anything that would let her know Wren had been here. Anything that would allow her to find her (even if she was dead). Count to five. Ignore the ache in her legs. Count to five. Touch the pendent. The world isn’t collapsing around her. Count to five. Examine the new scrapes in the bark and determine it isn’t from Wren. Count to five. Plead to Oriens for a sign of her sister. Count to five. Ignore the taste of salt as tears run down her face. Refuse to stop moving.
It was probably sunset when she tried to turn back, but today she wasn’t able to. She spun on her haunches, a pain in her heart as she realized that she hadn’t even reached the overlapping “x’s” she had scrapped into the tree bark her last time this way. What if there is a sign of Wren further out there?! But it was night. She had to turn back. If she didn’t Wren was sure to be dead. She had to make it back to her leaf bed. Only fifteen steps and her limbs shook. This time it was not fear, it was exhaustion and malnutrition. Her body could not keep moving on. It needed rest. Days of it, with proper food. Five more steps and her rear legs folded under her. Gritting her teeth she tried to push herself back up but her front limbs crumpled under the additional strain.
Please don’t die because I failed. The world needs you...
She tried to accept it. Her nose pressed to the pendent. She’d have to rest here. Tomorrow she’d go back. She’d start over again the day after. She had to. She had to. She had to. She had to. She had to.
I won’t stop until I find you or this world kills me...
... Into Oblivion
