If you must die, Sweetheart,
Die knowing your life was my life’s best part.
Die knowing your life was my life’s best part.
One, two, three, four…
Repetitive, I counted. My only driving force, my only state of progression. Every dragging step, every lurch of an exhausted heartbeat, every gasping inhale followed by shuddering exhale, I counted. A litany of prayer reduced to four single digits, the promise of salvation and a stubborn, foolish determination to not keel over in the dunes of the Mors personified into four simple numbers. One, two… Three. Four.
I lost track of the time since the night of my dangerous escape. It seemed to blur together, and I could not remember just how long I had been traveling, dragging my sorry state of a body through Novus to return home. The first few days were spent in a frantic blur; paranoia and terror drove my mad dash across the lands. As fatigue caught up with me two days in, I chose to spend the days in hiding to try and rest and regain my strength, while my nights were dedicated to travel.
Home. Did I have a home? Would it still be mine to claim? Or had I been replaced? One.
I thought of my family cottage on the corner of the Ieshan estate, beyond the beautiful gardens where so often I met Adonai. I imagined it as it was; beautiful, quaint, it’s stone sides polished a striking white and the gardens around it blooming and full. The thought of my bed, so soft and welcoming when I could fall into it, was nearly enough to make me weep. Two.
My thoughts twisted, sullied and poisoned from the hardship of my absence and the mental image of my quaint cottage shifted into an image of neglect, forgotten, rotting, cast aside. The windows that remained open to allow the winter breeze inside were now boarded and sealed shut, the same done to the front entranceway to prevent entrance. I imagined it barren and full of cobwebs, and the only souls that lived there were the ghosts of memories. Three.
I wanted to cry, but I ran out of tears weeks ago. Four.
Crossing the Mors had been the most difficult part of my journey thus far. By the time I even arrived in Solterra my body was pushing the fine line of collapsing. The nights were cold and frigid, my legs seeming to sink into the fine sand dunes that made every step a challenge. I was exhausted by the time dawn rose and with so little protection from the glaring sun, my rest was fitful at best. Two days into the trek across the desert I noticed a number of dark carrion birds in my wake, circling overhead. Three of them, to be exact, and I recalled a moment months ago where I saw three black birds on Adonai’s windowsill before our lives were turned upside down.
My tired heart ached. My eyes burned. I could hardly breathe, the tongue in my mouth dry and parched, nostrils cracked and bleeding. Surely I looked a wretched sight, and had I possessed the energy I would have been horrified at my appearance. Every youthful splendor and ounce of vigor I once had was gone; my coat dull and lackluster, the grey-blue color stained with sweat and caked with sand, dirt, and blood. Every rib could be counted and the cut of my hip bones sharply stuck out. Old injuries, cuts, and lacerations were poorly healed and some had grown infected along the journey I made across Novus. I was a sight, and not in a good way. Surely not even Adonai could recognize me now…
It wasn’t until I stumbled across the Oasis just before dawn that I allowed myself to fall, its greenery like a welcome home embrace from a loved one. Unceremoniously I crumpled to the ground near the shore of the blue waters, the sound of the nearby waterfall like music to my ears as my sides heaved in large, gasping breaths. For what felt like hours I laid there, eyes closed, focused on breathing and not passing out. It was a miracle I managed to stay conscious. As my thirst kicked in, I shifted, rolling onto my middle after an embarrassing amount of effort. My hooves scrambled against sand and stone to pull my pitiful bulk the rest of the way towards the water and there I drank greedily, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of crisp, clear, cool water. Every swallow caused my stomach to cramp uncomfortably, but my eyes burned with tears of relief.
Finally.
I was home.
Lacking the strength to move from the side of the oasis I let my head drop in the sand, chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. Exhaustion covered me like a mantle, oppressive and cumbersome, and my eyes grew heavy.
As unconsciousness finally took me I didn’t even see the three dark carrion birds perched upon the nearby stonework.
Repetitive, I counted. My only driving force, my only state of progression. Every dragging step, every lurch of an exhausted heartbeat, every gasping inhale followed by shuddering exhale, I counted. A litany of prayer reduced to four single digits, the promise of salvation and a stubborn, foolish determination to not keel over in the dunes of the Mors personified into four simple numbers. One, two… Three. Four.
I lost track of the time since the night of my dangerous escape. It seemed to blur together, and I could not remember just how long I had been traveling, dragging my sorry state of a body through Novus to return home. The first few days were spent in a frantic blur; paranoia and terror drove my mad dash across the lands. As fatigue caught up with me two days in, I chose to spend the days in hiding to try and rest and regain my strength, while my nights were dedicated to travel.
Home. Did I have a home? Would it still be mine to claim? Or had I been replaced? One.
I thought of my family cottage on the corner of the Ieshan estate, beyond the beautiful gardens where so often I met Adonai. I imagined it as it was; beautiful, quaint, it’s stone sides polished a striking white and the gardens around it blooming and full. The thought of my bed, so soft and welcoming when I could fall into it, was nearly enough to make me weep. Two.
My thoughts twisted, sullied and poisoned from the hardship of my absence and the mental image of my quaint cottage shifted into an image of neglect, forgotten, rotting, cast aside. The windows that remained open to allow the winter breeze inside were now boarded and sealed shut, the same done to the front entranceway to prevent entrance. I imagined it barren and full of cobwebs, and the only souls that lived there were the ghosts of memories. Three.
I wanted to cry, but I ran out of tears weeks ago. Four.
Crossing the Mors had been the most difficult part of my journey thus far. By the time I even arrived in Solterra my body was pushing the fine line of collapsing. The nights were cold and frigid, my legs seeming to sink into the fine sand dunes that made every step a challenge. I was exhausted by the time dawn rose and with so little protection from the glaring sun, my rest was fitful at best. Two days into the trek across the desert I noticed a number of dark carrion birds in my wake, circling overhead. Three of them, to be exact, and I recalled a moment months ago where I saw three black birds on Adonai’s windowsill before our lives were turned upside down.
My tired heart ached. My eyes burned. I could hardly breathe, the tongue in my mouth dry and parched, nostrils cracked and bleeding. Surely I looked a wretched sight, and had I possessed the energy I would have been horrified at my appearance. Every youthful splendor and ounce of vigor I once had was gone; my coat dull and lackluster, the grey-blue color stained with sweat and caked with sand, dirt, and blood. Every rib could be counted and the cut of my hip bones sharply stuck out. Old injuries, cuts, and lacerations were poorly healed and some had grown infected along the journey I made across Novus. I was a sight, and not in a good way. Surely not even Adonai could recognize me now…
It wasn’t until I stumbled across the Oasis just before dawn that I allowed myself to fall, its greenery like a welcome home embrace from a loved one. Unceremoniously I crumpled to the ground near the shore of the blue waters, the sound of the nearby waterfall like music to my ears as my sides heaved in large, gasping breaths. For what felt like hours I laid there, eyes closed, focused on breathing and not passing out. It was a miracle I managed to stay conscious. As my thirst kicked in, I shifted, rolling onto my middle after an embarrassing amount of effort. My hooves scrambled against sand and stone to pull my pitiful bulk the rest of the way towards the water and there I drank greedily, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of crisp, clear, cool water. Every swallow caused my stomach to cramp uncomfortably, but my eyes burned with tears of relief.
Finally.
I was home.
Lacking the strength to move from the side of the oasis I let my head drop in the sand, chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. Exhaustion covered me like a mantle, oppressive and cumbersome, and my eyes grew heavy.
As unconsciousness finally took me I didn’t even see the three dark carrion birds perched upon the nearby stonework.
First person is weird and I hope I'll get the hang of it soon. ;o; <3
