07-14-2020, 11:40 PM
With a final groan, Tristan sank into Nimeda’s shoulder. His chest heaved hard breaths, and the drums within his heart slowed. Upon disentangling himself from her legs, it was with a pleased smile and peaceful glow to his cheeks he rolled away and laid alongside her. The color to the sky returned, he realized after a few moments. The grass was green again. Nimeda’s skin flushed rosy pink.
Of all the things that were back to normal, he realized it was he himself who was changed. Strange black shapes were splotched on his chest, surrounding a symbol at the center.
His fingers trailed the curvy shape, but the black did not smudge. Awe transformed his expression as he looked to Nimeda for answers, but when he beheld her flushed, naked body, he gasped. Something was etched nestled between her breasts. It was like a flower, surrounded by sinuous lines. Rather than black, it shimmered blue and iridescent.
“Nimeda, look,” he pointed at it, reaching out to graze her skin delicately as he had his own.
Something stirred in the dream before she could answer. His gaze swept far and wide, similar as he had called out to the wolves in the Other World, but what was awakening was not his kin. He shivered a moment. Distant spires seemed to signal across the dream, but one in particular called him by an Old Name. The language was not known to Tristan yet he knew the interpretation.
He repeated it, “Sun Snatcher,” and was drawn to his feet, though his legs were still pleasantly weak.
It was to the east he searched, yearning to return to the source.
To Iceland.
"My Uncle calls me," he said with a whisper, and a great sadness stirred within. As if it was the sadness of an entire race speaking through the basalt column, and a hand fell across his heart, stroking the troll cross beneath.
Of all the things that were back to normal, he realized it was he himself who was changed. Strange black shapes were splotched on his chest, surrounding a symbol at the center.
His fingers trailed the curvy shape, but the black did not smudge. Awe transformed his expression as he looked to Nimeda for answers, but when he beheld her flushed, naked body, he gasped. Something was etched nestled between her breasts. It was like a flower, surrounded by sinuous lines. Rather than black, it shimmered blue and iridescent.
“Nimeda, look,” he pointed at it, reaching out to graze her skin delicately as he had his own.
Something stirred in the dream before she could answer. His gaze swept far and wide, similar as he had called out to the wolves in the Other World, but what was awakening was not his kin. He shivered a moment. Distant spires seemed to signal across the dream, but one in particular called him by an Old Name. The language was not known to Tristan yet he knew the interpretation.
He repeated it, “Sun Snatcher,” and was drawn to his feet, though his legs were still pleasantly weak.
It was to the east he searched, yearning to return to the source.
To Iceland.
"My Uncle calls me," he said with a whisper, and a great sadness stirred within. As if it was the sadness of an entire race speaking through the basalt column, and a hand fell across his heart, stroking the troll cross beneath.