the year of hibernation — nessa & vin
Nov 15, 2023 1:00:40 GMT -5
Post by fox on Nov 15, 2023 1:00:40 GMT -5
❦
i waited for his grip to soften, knelt by his bed. slowly, his hand loosened from mine.
i'd let it rest in my palm. for one more moment, thumb over the knuckles, tracing both the fine and blunt lines of his fingers. then, i stood, pulled the blanket over Roe.
i'll be right back,
i don't know if he heard me.
on the path, the vines fall from her like strands of willow in the summer, twilight draped over the soft slope of her stone shoulders. oathbreaker, the raven croaks. hidden in cloud swell, the sun is gray as it sets.
who was i at twelve.
sworn into her fate.
her face, in long shadows, turned downwards towards the flowers in her arms.
she is always guilty of her grief.
she did not know, blameless until he crossed the ring of flame. he'd asked for his fate, he knew of his end, and strange then, how he would curse her with it. why did Sigurth cut her from stone. why did he lie with her. why did he promise what couldn't be given.
twined in the thread of fate.
i know.
the hand of the Norns.
the story never changes.
the silver moths blink into the moonlight, fragile, they land in the grooves of her skull.
i think of Arcadia.
one stem from her arm, pulled loose, wrapped in my hand. the moon rises. the birds sing, branch to branch in the garden, of the lovers, the oathbreaker, the undoing of all those heroes, the woman in the stone.
i pick the daisies on the path. and remember Sindri, pressing his nose to each yellow center as we walked, little suns in the grass. my father said he was no hunting dog when i brought him back home. he was right. all four of the rest became great hunters by their second year. but Sindri never did.
loops and knots, i braid the flowers, like all those years ago, still a child and nothing more.
on the path, we meet each other in half darkness.
she turns, dragging the glaive with her. it feels too large for her, girl who marveled at the smallest thing.
"Nessa."
one hand full of daisies, one on the blade.
who was i at her age.
i put the glaive down at our feet and reach for her wrist. warm to the touch. i look to her eyes. "you're alone."
i'd let it rest in my palm. for one more moment, thumb over the knuckles, tracing both the fine and blunt lines of his fingers. then, i stood, pulled the blanket over Roe.
i'll be right back,
i don't know if he heard me.
𓅪
on the path, the vines fall from her like strands of willow in the summer, twilight draped over the soft slope of her stone shoulders. oathbreaker, the raven croaks. hidden in cloud swell, the sun is gray as it sets.
who was i at twelve.
sworn into her fate.
her face, in long shadows, turned downwards towards the flowers in her arms.
she is always guilty of her grief.
she did not know, blameless until he crossed the ring of flame. he'd asked for his fate, he knew of his end, and strange then, how he would curse her with it. why did Sigurth cut her from stone. why did he lie with her. why did he promise what couldn't be given.
twined in the thread of fate.
i know.
the hand of the Norns.
the story never changes.
the silver moths blink into the moonlight, fragile, they land in the grooves of her skull.
i think of Arcadia.
one stem from her arm, pulled loose, wrapped in my hand. the moon rises. the birds sing, branch to branch in the garden, of the lovers, the oathbreaker, the undoing of all those heroes, the woman in the stone.
i pick the daisies on the path. and remember Sindri, pressing his nose to each yellow center as we walked, little suns in the grass. my father said he was no hunting dog when i brought him back home. he was right. all four of the rest became great hunters by their second year. but Sindri never did.
loops and knots, i braid the flowers, like all those years ago, still a child and nothing more.
on the path, we meet each other in half darkness.
she turns, dragging the glaive with her. it feels too large for her, girl who marveled at the smallest thing.
"Nessa."
one hand full of daisies, one on the blade.
who was i at her age.
i put the glaive down at our feet and reach for her wrist. warm to the touch. i look to her eyes. "you're alone."
vin scavenges Garden
3aC4nl2RHU1-9
7 | Rows of Leafy Vegetables [Edible]
