I will conquer.
Her qualms over leaving Dallilja and Shahrokh to their own machinations, their schemes and expeditions, deepened like the burgeoning shadows left in her wake; as darkness swathed and swaddled the landscape ahead of her. There was no moon proclaiming its radiance over the earth for her to clearly see her avenue back towards the tangle of wood and brush she had so eloquently arrived in through the snarling
slit in time, a laceration which bled out her; but a strange waltz of lights in the sky, muted and subdued. She had been a
coward, and facing the heinous blaze of eyes gleaming like fabricated stars in the shelter of the fronds she still
was.
But she wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow them to suffer for her mistakes. Mother would have wanted them to be
together, would have wanted her to keep them
safe, and if she’s truly dead, if she’s never going to come
back; Cahira owes her this meager command. Beads of water from the constant deluge careen down her spine in a bitter surge which causes her to shiver and suddenly her reflections are in
rapture, when she’d grieved her sorrows and longing for the Lightningborne to the capricious skies she’d expected
nothing, and in truth felt very much a fool. What was the
use of supplications to deities who had let her be cast from their realm, who had
failed to save Dagr or Nótt? (What was the rationale in hoping they could bring the likeness of her mother to her?) Yet she had drawn the attention of
Something. The warbling muddle of voices had demanded of her with the authority of a being who could grant her what she wanted and felt it had the right to compel her to do what it—
they—wanted, though no names had been assumed. Doubts swam in her mind like swarms of fish, too slippery to catch,
was it possible? Could she… would she… that is, would
mother…
A snap of twigs beneath her hooves preceded the crackling and whooshing of what she could only assume was a animal of some kind distracted her flustered line of speculation on what mother would want and
do, and she hesitated, nostrils quivering as she
tensed; Dallilja? Or perhaps Sharokh? The disturbance goes on, seemingly in her direction, and she risks a faint cry,
"Hello?"
The gloom ahead of her seems to soften, to brighten, and then from the trees arises the silhouette of a monstrosity Cahira has never seen before, or yet wishes to see again. From its back sprouts the source of luminescence, coils like appendages veer lazily down its sides, and she can see them well, because the
flesh of the monster is
translucent; and then its face is lowering towards hers; its beady eyes twinkle with a bleak kind of malice and for a moment she is staring back at it, neither moving, her blood like
ice.
And then—
it doesn’t roar, it would be
nicer if it had—its mouth writhes into a voracious
grin, showing off what seem like millions upon millions of
pointed, blackened
teeth.
Before she’s very aware of what she’s doing she’s whirled around to slam both her hooves into its (
smug) smile, they connect with what might have been a satisfying
smack if she couldn’t feel its breath at her croup and then the thing hisses, like a snake, like a
dozen snakes and she’s fleeing back through the woodland with it behind her. Branches graze her withers and scrape her flank, the whites of her eyes
flash and judging by the crashing at her heels it’s
hunting her, the nimbus haloed about her rapier shines like a beacon and for once Cahira wishes she could
rip it off and throw it into the mud. Anything—as long as she can
escape—she can distract it with, breath heaves in her sides and out of her mouth and sweat mingles with the rain to drip down into stinging eyes, blurring her vision. She doesn’t cry out, not physically, she
can’t, there’s not enough air, but she pleads with every fiber of her being,
help me, please, help me.
She isn’t sure if she’s talking to the deities she’s familiar with or someone
else, all she knows is
fear.
@
Kratos
Rainforest Cliffs
