Ni'Srilan: The Desert: to sterling; --

“ I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. ”

-- Yeats

“Fire, it was,” she says in that same strange cadence that lolls in her tongue and drips into the air. “Fire from the seaside, no less.”

She has never told anyone about the fire’s instigator, about the way it rolled and licked and danced her limbs, how it ate her fur without cause or reason. Joh has never hurt anyone she knows of, other than the shards – perhaps it is their revenge, to burn and to kill her with the elements they too inspired.

The water is cool, sloshing over her with a faint, ozone-like smell, the aftertaste of lightning.

“Good for you, this place is?” she sighs as the water curls and breaks over her in tiny ripples. “Good, it doesn’t feel. Strange, it is. Almost… dead.”

The sound of horses and a snake’s hiss is the only sound she feels. The wind plays with the sands and the dunes, and stretches.

stormreaver
of night and light and half-light