Ni'Srilan: The Desert: i suppose wolves don't speak icelandic, either; hypatia. --

“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it? That's what it is to be a slave.”
- Blade Runner

Everything’s crashing, Hypatia. The end is near and those who can see – those who, unlike you, know this land from their first drawn breath – will know it.

I don’t like being caught unawares. By anything.

And an idiot, the wind singsongs, but then, there is far less heat than there could be. This late into life, it’s almost irrelevant, and I am only five (or six? I don’t even remember) years old. Because everything’s changing, Hypatia, everything is collapsing under everything’s weight.

I will dance upon my homeland’s ashes.

At least you have the certainty of good and evil. I do not.

Ah, but the world never was this black and white. There’s always shades of gray, always the shadows.

My family was always too independent, I shrug, and the winds coil around me like ice snakes; for a moment, I can even see them – feeble things in the desert’s heat. We go where we please, we always did.

The smile, however. I can feel it tugging at my lips, turning wicked, the way my father used to smile.

She is my daughter, I say simply, and I know the truth of the words even before I hear them. Of course I will watch for her, even if I don’t love her. Her twin will, as well. They are very close. But I don’t think you care for my children, Hypatia. Why should you? They are not yours and only a threat to those you lead. What, indeed, do you care for, oracle?

This time, the wind plays with the lion’s mane, tugs at him almost playfully as something resembling a kitten shapes itself out of sand and mews.

fenrisulfr
some there be that shadows kiss,
such have but a shadow’s bliss