Maea
Rest against my pillow
like the aging winter sun
like the aging winter sun
"Ah, that would explain it," Maea nodded. No particulars came to mind but she'd had enough dealings with merchants in the past that the resemblance could be of Alys or a relative with similar features. "I've been away for some time, myself. What is Halo like, these –"
Suddenly the air was full of wings. It went straight for Alys, drawn to some trinket about her wrist, and in a flurry of dark feathers it was off, bauble in it's beak. Without thinking Maea dropped the flour sack and hauled a shoe from her foot, and threw it at the bird. Tumbling through the rain, the projectile smacked cleanly into the bird's head, and it crashed to the ground.
Limping from the height discrepancy of being one-shod, Maea hurried over. Before the crow could get up, she hastily pulled the bracelet from the beak. But as the was standing over the avian, staring down at it, some impulse made her pick it up. Heavy in her hands, the feathers were silky and damp and clung to her fingers. Maea could feel the tiny heartbeats fluttering against her palm, felt the blood pumping... and stood paralyzed in the street, as an urge to spill that very same blood grew like a sweet ache in her.
It felt wrong. It felt right. Danta's face came to mind, telling her of the bloodlust and the consequences of ignoring it. And yet... she was torn. It felt so... wanton. Cruel. Had she become cruel, after all these years?
Was life no longer precious?
Suddenly the air was full of wings. It went straight for Alys, drawn to some trinket about her wrist, and in a flurry of dark feathers it was off, bauble in it's beak. Without thinking Maea dropped the flour sack and hauled a shoe from her foot, and threw it at the bird. Tumbling through the rain, the projectile smacked cleanly into the bird's head, and it crashed to the ground.
Limping from the height discrepancy of being one-shod, Maea hurried over. Before the crow could get up, she hastily pulled the bracelet from the beak. But as the was standing over the avian, staring down at it, some impulse made her pick it up. Heavy in her hands, the feathers were silky and damp and clung to her fingers. Maea could feel the tiny heartbeats fluttering against her palm, felt the blood pumping... and stood paralyzed in the street, as an urge to spill that very same blood grew like a sweet ache in her.
It felt wrong. It felt right. Danta's face came to mind, telling her of the bloodlust and the consequences of ignoring it. And yet... she was torn. It felt so... wanton. Cruel. Had she become cruel, after all these years?
Was life no longer precious?
Only wake each morning to
remember that you're gone
remember that you're gone
