05-29-2020, 12:39 AM
[[Following on from Caerus and Interlude, and connected to the creature in Paradise of Pleasure]]
She trailed her feet through the frigid water, murmuring the beats of a song that haunted unknown words to her tongue. Rocks slipped underfoot, making a game of balance, arms outstretched as she tumbled into a strange sort of dance. Water sprayed and speckled her skirts until its arms captured her laughing, down into freezing depths. When next her shining head surfaced the fjord rolled out in unnatural waves, beholden to her playful whim. She spun with it, hair fanning out, the frozen petals tucked into her braids slipping free to bob in the currents.
A lonely game.
If she squinted she could see the shine of a red-painted door in the distance, but she did not often traipse the path to the cottage and basalt stone above, lest the great wolf chase her off. She did not know if Tristan kept his promises, or even if he could.
With a sigh she sank, letting herself unravel.
Down and down and down
Her eyes opened curiously when she suddenly felt the presence of another; a shadowy brush dripping against the shell of her foot, and the agile curve of something slithering along her shoulder. The ancient one’s body flickered as she circled, the beautiful colours of her scaling gleaming in the watery light. Human enough to dream. Wonder followed her swift trail. How many of the old things were beginning to stir! But when Nim’s lips parted to smile, bubbles zipping joyous from her mouth, it was blood she tasted; bright and sharp in the water. For something was very wrong.
Nimeda’s hand outstretched into the cold, unsure what had drawn her. Then her insides shuddered with a deluge of memory; old and indistinct. The trembling tiptoe of sneaking mischief, a realm beyond her own, yet she usually found welcome even so. Wide-eyed rapture. The rippling scythe of fins.
The vengeful sea.
A snag at her ankle jerked her down. A frenzy of bubbles clouded her vision.
He will not find you! she said. An echo of another dream pierced the mirk, stinking of death and the horror she had hurled at the grimnir for his callousness. They did not deserve to die!
But the creature could not hear, caught in the mania of her dreaming, phasing in and out in the murky light. The cold edge of a spear nudged against the skin at Nim’s side and she squirmed, falling deeper. Distress churned. Nim tangled for a moment in the squeezing rush of tentacles, caught a sliver of the female’s expression; lip curled and sharp teeth bared. Then she passed around again. Circling.
Rage. Oh the rage.
And fear.
Nim finally looked down to the pull of a heartbeat below. Her eyes widened. Oh no no no no. She dare not drift closer, and with a push and a flicker her head burst from the surface of the lake.
She was no longer in Ice Land though. Sorrow weighed the heart in her chest like an anchor, and waves lapped at her neck as she stared at her new surroundings; tried desperately to emblazon the curving basin to memory. A wet palm brushed tears from her eyes. The dream rearranged to deliver her to the shoreline, feet already running. Sodden skirts tangled her legs, and she tripped her way a few stumblings steps, grappled forward again in desperate need -- and found her hands flat against red-painted wood. Vánagandr. The name beat a steady rhythm in her skull, her head presently pressed against the door to catch her breath. Water rolled great droplets down the planes of her face, or maybe tears. Her mind sought outwards, to discover if the kin of wolves ran in the dream this night. “Tristan?”
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@"Tristan" @"Sierra"
She trailed her feet through the frigid water, murmuring the beats of a song that haunted unknown words to her tongue. Rocks slipped underfoot, making a game of balance, arms outstretched as she tumbled into a strange sort of dance. Water sprayed and speckled her skirts until its arms captured her laughing, down into freezing depths. When next her shining head surfaced the fjord rolled out in unnatural waves, beholden to her playful whim. She spun with it, hair fanning out, the frozen petals tucked into her braids slipping free to bob in the currents.
A lonely game.
If she squinted she could see the shine of a red-painted door in the distance, but she did not often traipse the path to the cottage and basalt stone above, lest the great wolf chase her off. She did not know if Tristan kept his promises, or even if he could.
With a sigh she sank, letting herself unravel.
Down and down and down
Her eyes opened curiously when she suddenly felt the presence of another; a shadowy brush dripping against the shell of her foot, and the agile curve of something slithering along her shoulder. The ancient one’s body flickered as she circled, the beautiful colours of her scaling gleaming in the watery light. Human enough to dream. Wonder followed her swift trail. How many of the old things were beginning to stir! But when Nim’s lips parted to smile, bubbles zipping joyous from her mouth, it was blood she tasted; bright and sharp in the water. For something was very wrong.
Nimeda’s hand outstretched into the cold, unsure what had drawn her. Then her insides shuddered with a deluge of memory; old and indistinct. The trembling tiptoe of sneaking mischief, a realm beyond her own, yet she usually found welcome even so. Wide-eyed rapture. The rippling scythe of fins.
The vengeful sea.
A snag at her ankle jerked her down. A frenzy of bubbles clouded her vision.
He will not find you! she said. An echo of another dream pierced the mirk, stinking of death and the horror she had hurled at the grimnir for his callousness. They did not deserve to die!
But the creature could not hear, caught in the mania of her dreaming, phasing in and out in the murky light. The cold edge of a spear nudged against the skin at Nim’s side and she squirmed, falling deeper. Distress churned. Nim tangled for a moment in the squeezing rush of tentacles, caught a sliver of the female’s expression; lip curled and sharp teeth bared. Then she passed around again. Circling.
Rage. Oh the rage.
And fear.
Nim finally looked down to the pull of a heartbeat below. Her eyes widened. Oh no no no no. She dare not drift closer, and with a push and a flicker her head burst from the surface of the lake.
She was no longer in Ice Land though. Sorrow weighed the heart in her chest like an anchor, and waves lapped at her neck as she stared at her new surroundings; tried desperately to emblazon the curving basin to memory. A wet palm brushed tears from her eyes. The dream rearranged to deliver her to the shoreline, feet already running. Sodden skirts tangled her legs, and she tripped her way a few stumblings steps, grappled forward again in desperate need -- and found her hands flat against red-painted wood. Vánagandr. The name beat a steady rhythm in her skull, her head presently pressed against the door to catch her breath. Water rolled great droplets down the planes of her face, or maybe tears. Her mind sought outwards, to discover if the kin of wolves ran in the dream this night. “Tristan?”
--------------------------
@"Tristan" @"Sierra"