grainne
And if one day she comes to you
Drink deeply from her words so wise
Drink deeply from her words so wise
How many times had she ascended this time-worn path, only to find nothing but cold stone and empty shrines awaiting her? Faithful she returned time and time again, never quite leaving with disappointment in her breast, but rather a weary and gradual relaxation of her hope for change, for resurrection of the past. She expected little else different in this new journey up to the Peak, hooves sounding sharp on the decaying stone, the taste of sage sharp on her tongue from the bushel on her tongue. Wordlessly, not yet sharing her quiet prayers, the silvery mare moved to the incense lighter, setting to embers the herbs held in her lips before she placed it on the dais before the shrines, watching the thick smoke lazily rise like a sooty ribbon before it dissipated into the frigid air. For a long moment she watched the sage smoulder, mulling over the words in her breast.
Would she pray? What would she pray for? She had home, she had herself, there was little use in praying for anything else so trivial. Would she pray for the gods' return? Finally, she simply bent her knees and settled before the altars of the gods, contenting herself with merely breathing in the scent of the sage and drawing her mind back to memory. It was, perhaps, enough that she had come, as she did frequently. Not always should one pray and ask for something of the gods, perhaps this was one of those times where she would simply listen, to relax in the remaining place of the gods and reminisce of times long past.
Though, after a spell, the silver mare rose slowly to her feet, bowing low to each of the shrines from time to dawn then day, to dusk then night and once more to time, whispering their names to the bitter air and smoky incense, offering no prayer yet instead her reverent devotion. Her ritual complete, Grainne turned and began tending to the shrine, sweeping away cobweb and dust, relighting candles and scraping dripped wax from the altars. Gentle and slow were her movements as she cared for the shrines of gods who were ever silent, a patient gradual pace that showed no signs of haste despite the growing hour. Finally, when the setting sun illuminated Vespera's shrine Grainne set aside her task and emptied the ashes of the once burning sage, standing before the shrines for a long moment in stillness and silence.
Many may have forgotten, may believe the gods myths, but she would never forget the radiance of divinity as immortality settled in her veins, the tears she had shed in awe of something greater than herself. Her sooty lips curled in faint amusement as she bowed her head one final time to the altars. Perhaps, then, that was the purpose of her immortality, a living monument and archive. It was not so bad of a fate, in truth.
Would she pray? What would she pray for? She had home, she had herself, there was little use in praying for anything else so trivial. Would she pray for the gods' return? Finally, she simply bent her knees and settled before the altars of the gods, contenting herself with merely breathing in the scent of the sage and drawing her mind back to memory. It was, perhaps, enough that she had come, as she did frequently. Not always should one pray and ask for something of the gods, perhaps this was one of those times where she would simply listen, to relax in the remaining place of the gods and reminisce of times long past.
Though, after a spell, the silver mare rose slowly to her feet, bowing low to each of the shrines from time to dawn then day, to dusk then night and once more to time, whispering their names to the bitter air and smoky incense, offering no prayer yet instead her reverent devotion. Her ritual complete, Grainne turned and began tending to the shrine, sweeping away cobweb and dust, relighting candles and scraping dripped wax from the altars. Gentle and slow were her movements as she cared for the shrines of gods who were ever silent, a patient gradual pace that showed no signs of haste despite the growing hour. Finally, when the setting sun illuminated Vespera's shrine Grainne set aside her task and emptied the ashes of the once burning sage, standing before the shrines for a long moment in stillness and silence.
Many may have forgotten, may believe the gods myths, but she would never forget the radiance of divinity as immortality settled in her veins, the tears she had shed in awe of something greater than herself. Her sooty lips curled in faint amusement as she bowed her head one final time to the altars. Perhaps, then, that was the purpose of her immortality, a living monument and archive. It was not so bad of a fate, in truth.
@Mikhael
