you're my {queen} and I'm your {lionheart} // ghosty
Aug 7, 2015 16:08:34 GMT -5
Post by sadniss everdeen on Aug 7, 2015 16:08:34 GMT -5
Xena of Amphipolis
I am steel
and passion
and all the things
you have left behind
She's not sure where she is.
Winter has long given way to summer, the bright circle in the sky warming the foliage, but it is still cooler than the blistering south that saps the moisture from your bones. It must be closer to the Capitol than Xena's been in a long while - she's been following the gleaming North Star for some time. At night, through the thick trees, she can sometimes see the distant gleam of the city when her bed has been made on the side of a mountain.
Would they let her back in?
"Doubtful," she murmurs, letting the gentle sway of Argo's back soothe her. It had been a long trek to District 10 to find the horse, but her sword had soon convinced them to hand him over. Crossing long stretches of meadow and mountain alike was nothing short of exhilerating on his back.
The sun beats hard over her shoulders. Xena stretches, listening to the series of clicks as her spine settles back into place, barely noticeable over the sounds of the forest. The leaves rub against each other in the hiss of a million voices and she hears prayer in language both new and old, swept inwards on the warm summer winds. Memories of the Before, of Greece and gods and ancient lands, dance to life on the backs of the spirits that exist in these hills. But the gale has a bite, a hum of warning, and she clicks her tongue to pick up the pace. Who knows when the gods will decide to open the skies?
A faint sound catches her attention. She draws Argo to a stop with a mere touch, dismounting with a gentle pat to his side. Hidden from the beyond, she slinks through the foliage, metal breastplate glinting. Her leather garb breathes with her - the breath of the animals who gave themselves to clothe her. She thanks them.
Soon, she meets a fence. She can hear the loud hum from the wire and eyes the charred corpse of a squirrel who had fallen from a tree, millions of volts frying the nerves that run through its body. Xena sends a short prayer for its spirit and creeps along the side of the boundary - has she truly gone so far north? How long has she been wandering this place, narrowly escaping the eyes of the Capitol who flit overhead like vengeful angels, their wrath a drone of engines instead the howl of fire falling from the sky.
(She remembers the Burning Times. It was her sword against a god, her body between fates. A mess of light and darkness and stepping over the twisted bodies of her friends.)
To her left comes the clamour of voices. Xena instinctively flinches back into the foliage, hand floating to he sword strapped across her back. They get more distinct the closer she crawls, and through the dense, reaching canopy of the great redwoods that erupt from the earth like pillars holding the sky, she spies a few shadowy forms. Their clothing is worn but not ragged, simple but not filthy. Commoners, but not beggars. Against the trees lay axes, wicked despite their age, handles discoloured from use, much too big for some of figures that stand now just on the other side of the barrier. Children. Teenagers.
Despite the fence, she recognizes their mocking tone. A ripple of unease rushes through her chest and she holds her breath, her calloused hands gripping hard to the trunk of the nearest tree. Its limbs extend out over the fence, a good twelve-foot drop to the ground. Is it really that important?
They laugh, and the sound is harsh like a raven's call. Xena's jaw sets. She was put here to fight for those who can't, and fight she will. But first, she needs a better look.
She climbs.