she will learn to rely on her own sword
in every battle, in every struggle, in every war
in every battle, in every struggle, in every war
There is hardly anything outside of the words she speaks, hardly any air left in her lungs to push out anymore. Once she is done, she only knows silence, only the mist that surrounds them and the pale glowing form that floats before them. Alyndra glides closer now, peering into the very depths of the phoenix and uttering a breathy 'you,' and this is the only warning the phoenix has before Katniss is lifted away. Panic almost seizes her, taking her by the hand to be pulled into a merry dance from which she could hardly escape. Oh, but there is no mirth and ill-wishes to be gleaned from this ghost. The phantom's tears have dried.
The phoenix does not balk when the specter is mere inches from her skin.
The chill in the air emanates from the deceased, but her words are as warm as the look in those milky eyes. "You will be remembered fondly," the phoenix says at last, almost reaching forward to offer a farewell. It is what she did when death knocked on the door time and time before; then, she would turn away after her cheek pressed to the others, then, she would walk behind Eluoan without ever looking back, ignoring the cries of those who lost a lover, a father, a brother, a friend. Then, it had not mattered.
Now, it seems more important.
As the crystal floats nearer, the Pegasus plucks it from the air. Aureate gaze looks upon it as one would a valued possession. So few gifts has she been given in her life, so few tangible things to keep memories alive. All she carries are feelings that fade and the bangles of stars and moonlight that dance upon her shoulders. Faintly the stars upon her skin thrum and hum, thanking Alyndra for the gift that glimmers gold and blue under the phoenix' light. "Thank you, Alyndra, for things I cannot begin to express. Travel safely where you go, and I will see you on the wind someday from now." It is not a statement, but a promise that rings. Small bursts within tell her that she has done well, that she healed much more than something physical.
Something akin to temporary peace and contentment settles in her belly as the trees sing, and she does not shy with her wings pressed tight to her sides as the winds carry her out of the woods. They set her there gently, and Moira could almost swear she hears one final goodbye from the phantom in the woods. Only the crystal is left to remind her of what passed, and she tucks it there in her hair. A secret treasure, a trophy, a reminder of all that she will do. "Thank you, and farewell," she whispers one last time before turning back toward Denocte and the people whom she loves.
"Speech"
The phoenix does not balk when the specter is mere inches from her skin.
The chill in the air emanates from the deceased, but her words are as warm as the look in those milky eyes. "You will be remembered fondly," the phoenix says at last, almost reaching forward to offer a farewell. It is what she did when death knocked on the door time and time before; then, she would turn away after her cheek pressed to the others, then, she would walk behind Eluoan without ever looking back, ignoring the cries of those who lost a lover, a father, a brother, a friend. Then, it had not mattered.
Now, it seems more important.
As the crystal floats nearer, the Pegasus plucks it from the air. Aureate gaze looks upon it as one would a valued possession. So few gifts has she been given in her life, so few tangible things to keep memories alive. All she carries are feelings that fade and the bangles of stars and moonlight that dance upon her shoulders. Faintly the stars upon her skin thrum and hum, thanking Alyndra for the gift that glimmers gold and blue under the phoenix' light. "Thank you, Alyndra, for things I cannot begin to express. Travel safely where you go, and I will see you on the wind someday from now." It is not a statement, but a promise that rings. Small bursts within tell her that she has done well, that she healed much more than something physical.
Something akin to temporary peace and contentment settles in her belly as the trees sing, and she does not shy with her wings pressed tight to her sides as the winds carry her out of the woods. They set her there gently, and Moira could almost swear she hears one final goodbye from the phantom in the woods. Only the crystal is left to remind her of what passed, and she tucks it there in her hair. A secret treasure, a trophy, a reminder of all that she will do. "Thank you, and farewell," she whispers one last time before turning back toward Denocte and the people whom she loves.
"Speech"
