[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by - nievian on March 25, 2009, 7:38 pm, in reply to "I. you asked me to pray for rain - "
172.129.40.235
think of the faces of the people you defend, you defend.
The sun is beginning to rise before I know what strikes such terror into me.
His sound of passage through the dense forest surrounding my little copse is loud as he approaches my hiding place with unerring skill, seeking me out with senses I can only dream of. I feel him, feel him as he draws close; when he slams into me, charging me from the side I wasn't looking toward, I scream, but it doesn't penetrate my ears. Terror incapacitates me, strikes me deaf and blind with terror. I do not know this nameless man, can hardly even see his face to make out who he is, but I can sense him and the taint attached to him, can sense it in the way that the Seed's ever-present sense of cheer swells into overdrive in an attempt to push back his Dark. It is nearly visible, the Seed's surge of power, the sense of love and hope and cheer that spreads through my veins and gives me something to fight back for.
The words that tumbled from20his mouth were not his own, but the voice (and the intention) was not the shard’s. “You have something I’ve always wanted.” He snarled, and his legs thrashed through the undergrowth as he drew closer.
“Wieso bist sie tuend dieses?” I cry, a sob hitching in my throat as I back away from his hooves and his Lightning, desperately searching for a way to run; “welches ausführen sie wollt auswendig?”
Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?
His element (without his demand, perhaps it was ironic that he, the master of his element, could no longer command it with such power) roared out from under him, a snarling fury of hissing electricity and howling fire. Sparks and flames leapt from his pelt, and his eyes were alight with the fierce intensity of his element. When he broke into the opening that she stood in, his wide eyes scoured the small copse, white ringed and wild. With a howling snarl he charged towards her, his electricity weaving its way towards her body with no remorse.
This, then, must be that horrible thing that Nicodemus spoke of. I tense, tremble, tears burning in my throat and stinging my eyes as I fight down wave after wave of panic. When he doesn’t respond, my only reply a trail of lightning that burns and stings, freezing me in place with my head thrown toward the sky, screaming (in my head or out loud, I'm not sure which.
When I have control of my body again, awakening from that black place where there is nothing but pain, he has advanced and I shove away the panic and focus on striking back. I'll be damned if I'll go down without a fight, because I promised my little sister that I would take care of her - I realize that what he wants is not me, but is the thing I Guard, the iridescent blue butterfly that flutters helplessly on my neck, hidden under my mane. But, that thing that he wants, it's mine, Mine, and I'm through having people take that which is mine. This is my burden to bear and I refuse to simply give it up without a fight.
Mine.
I wield my elements furiously, anger overwhelming fear. I weave them together in a seamless display of power I hardly understand and can barely control – my winds buffet and spin around him in a miniature vortex, blowing stinging sand into eyes gone dark and empty; my earth seizes and rolls beneath his feet, alternately hardening into quartz-like slickness and softening until it’s nearly mud, sticky and soft beneath his hooves, and vines sprout from nowhere and wrap around his feet; my fire singes and burns wherever I make contact.
Going much by instinct, I wield my Earth as much as possible, finding flaws in his defenses I wouldn’t normally. I do not go unscathed in this futile, nearly silent struggle, for every hit I make on him, he scores three on me. He is bigger and stronger physically, although elementally I have the advantage; it does me no good, because eventually, weariness and fear and blood-loss combine to make me light-headed and I begin to slip, allowing him to strike me over the eye with I don’t know what; blood immediately begins to seep from the wound, dripping into my eyes. Another strike lands on one of my thrashing forelegs, causing me to cry out in pain as I stumble back, swaying away from him with a very real fear that flares brightly in my eyes that this, this was the end.
And when he reached her, his hooves rose above her body and fell; and fell, and fell.
Using Earth, Air and Fire at once, I cry (for release, for salvation, I don't know which) and force him back, staggering to my feet. The longer I fight him, the longer he presses me back until I have nowhere to run, until exhaustion and drives me to all fours, sides heaving and bleeding, the less strength I have to continue to cling to this beacon of hope that is hidden under my mane, thick and glorious with all the charms from my travels. I know instinctively that it is unnatural for this lethargy to fill my head, slowing the blows we trade; I see it affects him, too, but I don’t understand why in my youth, my naivety, my innocence.
I don’t know what he does, but we stand there for a moment and I pray that he is going to offer me a parley or something of the sort (with my naivety; always, it is thus), the Seed drifts from my neck, drawn toward him and his Darkness; I feel its Light receding as it slips from me. It hovers in the air before the Hunter, lightning crackling along his skin, and there is a terrible sound, like a thousand voices screaming, the sound of our hope shattering, the sound of my heart breaking as the only real companion that remained with me since my birth is destroyed. A jagged bolt of light strikes the Seed in its center and shatters it into a million shining pieces that fall like miniature stars; I feel my Wind as it is ripped from me, feel the pressure in my head that drops me to my knees (elicting a cry of pain as I land roughly on my injured leg) as the connection between the Seed and I is broken.
Darkness licks at the edges of my consciousness and I am certain the end, for me, has come. I have the presence of mind to be bitter about it, because of course this is how my life will end, battered, broken and beaten. I haven’t suffered enough indignities of this life, but now I’m going to die without even my pride, because I’m on my knees with no hope of rising to face my end. I’ve reached my limit. Dully, I look up, my fey-like silver eyes glazed with pain and despair, determined if I cannot stand, I will not turn away, but the Hunter surprises me. Instead of advancing to bring his hooves down on my skull, he turns away; as swiftly and as loudly as he came, he vanishes with a silence that is nearly as terrifying as the tumult and clamor of our – my – desperate fight.
But my head cannot handle anymore; with the Keeper gone, Heila-ssa takes over. It lulls me into sleep, and as I drop to my side I burn, the flames a vivid violet blue; in sleep, I heal, and the terrible wounds that left my life-blood all over the ground, slick in some places, muddy in others, and burned black in more, are gone. In sleep, I cry, tears coursing tracks through the blood and sweat and grime on my night-black skin.
The taste of ash is bitter in my mouth.
although we are men with mortal sin, angels never cry. 6
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