03-06-2018, 07:12 AM
They are neither willing nor unwilling as their roots are being tugged from their strangleholds; they merely are, heavy and solid, bleeding and raw. And all around them, the elegy continues, whispered by the surf and the wind and the swaying of the Mangroves.
As Kiada's voice sinks through the bark and into the tree, once again the roots relax—just a little, not enough to come untangled on their own, but it is almost as if the stand of trees began to sigh, to let go of tension.
As Kiada's voice sinks through the bark and into the tree, once again the roots relax—just a little, not enough to come untangled on their own, but it is almost as if the stand of trees began to sigh, to let go of tension.
the Rift
life from death
life from death
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