Blood Falls
07-03-2018, 08:41 AM
You sink into the work with little thought of anything: your body strains against the unfamiliar load, struggling to find the most efficient ways to accomplish a task you weren't ever meant to perform. But, you think as you shove another boulder into place in your half of the dam, that's what hope is about. Doing what shouldn't—couldn't—be done, or at the very least trying.
So perhaps that is what you're all doing to the river: hoping. Perhaps that is what calms and stills it, and not the manual labor, the sweat and the strain.
You don't know, and you can't tell. Your tired body quivers; the waters grow nearly silent. The red liquid snaps a few more times, and then resumes its almost river-like behavior.
Where it came from, you don't know. Where it goes, you don't know. It's just a river on a mountainside.
You tremble with exertion, your body steaming into the cold air. The bear reappears, thanking you all after a fashion, and then disappears again. You blink, and look towards the other shore. The icy girl approaches the filly, who is engulfed in a red fog. You don't understand it, and you don't question that, either; the sleek, black stranger drifts away like the shadow he is.
The trembling turns to shivering as you bleed warmth, and you hug your wings closer to your sides. Your pulse is fleet and tired.
You should feel something—joy, or perhaps pride in what you've done—but you don't. You just feel tired and cold, and with a groan you make it back to the other side, to stand near Roscorro, trying to soak up some warmth radiating off of him as you wait for the group to leave.
[ Waker goes to stand near @Roscorro ]
So perhaps that is what you're all doing to the river: hoping. Perhaps that is what calms and stills it, and not the manual labor, the sweat and the strain.
You don't know, and you can't tell. Your tired body quivers; the waters grow nearly silent. The red liquid snaps a few more times, and then resumes its almost river-like behavior.
Where it came from, you don't know. Where it goes, you don't know. It's just a river on a mountainside.
You tremble with exertion, your body steaming into the cold air. The bear reappears, thanking you all after a fashion, and then disappears again. You blink, and look towards the other shore. The icy girl approaches the filly, who is engulfed in a red fog. You don't understand it, and you don't question that, either; the sleek, black stranger drifts away like the shadow he is.
The trembling turns to shivering as you bleed warmth, and you hug your wings closer to your sides. Your pulse is fleet and tired.
You should feel something—joy, or perhaps pride in what you've done—but you don't. You just feel tired and cold, and with a groan you make it back to the other side, to stand near Roscorro, trying to soak up some warmth radiating off of him as you wait for the group to leave.
[ Waker goes to stand near @Roscorro ]
