Nimeda turned to search out her companion, seeking answers, only to find nothing but the dull grass stretched endless beyond. A shiver burrowed deep, arms reaching to cradle what fading warmth remained in her body. She had no power within this place she had strayed. An unfamiliar stab of uncertainty beat in her chest to behold that lonely vista; an unpleasant final death to be lured by in search of the grimnir’s riddle.
But she had not been abandoned.
A blush of purple ghosted her peripheral as someone smoothed a curl from her face, twisting her obediently around. Beauty carved the face staring down, a tail of sleek black hair spilling from the shadow of her hood. The Hidden Folk slipped through all the inbetween places, curling as little more than myth in every evasive memory she could conjure. Wonder hushed Nimeda to stillness. She stared, silent.
The grey lady’s touch was cool, deft fingers weaving amongst the flowers and braids tumbling from Nimeda’s crown like a mother tending a wild daughter into some semblance of neatness. Faint memory stirred, like the peaceful bob of water-travel along a sunlit river, but might also have been the rolling wheels of wagons. Her eyes half lidded to capture that warm memory, until a gasp released the band of ice pinching her chest. Feeling returned like a sleeping sun summoned out from behind cloud.
“Oh. Thank you.”
A sobre smile softened the woman’s lips. Her head inclined acknowledgement for the kindness, but the pale discs of her eyes never blinked. “By what name are you known in this time?”
“Nimeda,” she said, a little curious, but not enough to question the oddity of the question.
“Ah. For that I am glad.” The woman’s hands had returned to the folds of her cloak, though Nimeda had not seen them move. She did not probe for the meaning of that expressed relief. There were other names, some of them quite unkind, glinting half-buried like lost treasure in the basin of a waterbed. She ignored the way some of them made her feel, curling little hooks of guilt or the zip of bubbles from a drowning breath. Instead she studied her hands in a moment of self-reflection, smudged with rainbow flecks of paint as they often were in the dream. She wondered if old sins were like that; impossible to wash off.
Distantly, she was still aware of the dead thing looming behind her; a prickle between her shoulders, like a drip of icewater against her freshly warmed skin. It reeled in her drifting thoughts enough to force her to press her gaze up, seeking focus before the pocket slipped away. She might never find it again; at least not this version of it. “I asked for a secret,” she said, grasping the intent like driftwood. “This is it?”
The woman’s expression did not change, the hint of her sad smile speaking of eternal patience. It wasn’t an answer, but Nim shifted to behold the silent pillar -- the strangest thing in the landscape beyond the lady herself. Her brows lowered, weighted by frustration. Thoughts darted like sleek fish, too fast to capture even if she knew where to start. “I made a promise,” she insisted, like the reminder might float something useful to the surface. It didn’t, of course.
“This time you come not knowing what you seek. But rivers know no hurry; they reach their destination regardless.”
Nimeda turned, only to find herself alone. Truly so, this time. When the grey lady’s pocket released her, so too did sleep.
But she had not been abandoned.
A blush of purple ghosted her peripheral as someone smoothed a curl from her face, twisting her obediently around. Beauty carved the face staring down, a tail of sleek black hair spilling from the shadow of her hood. The Hidden Folk slipped through all the inbetween places, curling as little more than myth in every evasive memory she could conjure. Wonder hushed Nimeda to stillness. She stared, silent.
The grey lady’s touch was cool, deft fingers weaving amongst the flowers and braids tumbling from Nimeda’s crown like a mother tending a wild daughter into some semblance of neatness. Faint memory stirred, like the peaceful bob of water-travel along a sunlit river, but might also have been the rolling wheels of wagons. Her eyes half lidded to capture that warm memory, until a gasp released the band of ice pinching her chest. Feeling returned like a sleeping sun summoned out from behind cloud.
“Oh. Thank you.”
A sobre smile softened the woman’s lips. Her head inclined acknowledgement for the kindness, but the pale discs of her eyes never blinked. “By what name are you known in this time?”
“Nimeda,” she said, a little curious, but not enough to question the oddity of the question.
“Ah. For that I am glad.” The woman’s hands had returned to the folds of her cloak, though Nimeda had not seen them move. She did not probe for the meaning of that expressed relief. There were other names, some of them quite unkind, glinting half-buried like lost treasure in the basin of a waterbed. She ignored the way some of them made her feel, curling little hooks of guilt or the zip of bubbles from a drowning breath. Instead she studied her hands in a moment of self-reflection, smudged with rainbow flecks of paint as they often were in the dream. She wondered if old sins were like that; impossible to wash off.
Distantly, she was still aware of the dead thing looming behind her; a prickle between her shoulders, like a drip of icewater against her freshly warmed skin. It reeled in her drifting thoughts enough to force her to press her gaze up, seeking focus before the pocket slipped away. She might never find it again; at least not this version of it. “I asked for a secret,” she said, grasping the intent like driftwood. “This is it?”
The woman’s expression did not change, the hint of her sad smile speaking of eternal patience. It wasn’t an answer, but Nim shifted to behold the silent pillar -- the strangest thing in the landscape beyond the lady herself. Her brows lowered, weighted by frustration. Thoughts darted like sleek fish, too fast to capture even if she knew where to start. “I made a promise,” she insisted, like the reminder might float something useful to the surface. It didn’t, of course.
“This time you come not knowing what you seek. But rivers know no hurry; they reach their destination regardless.”
Nimeda turned, only to find herself alone. Truly so, this time. When the grey lady’s pocket released her, so too did sleep.