Green Labyrinth
08-05-2017, 07:44 PM
so i listen to the wind for an answer
She is lost in this place. No literally lost; no, it is easy to find her way through the skies, to orient herself by the few landmarks she has come to know. She is simply lost, without purpose, without any idea how many ghosts would join the long list of the dead that she already carried in her heart. Part of her was afraid to start looking for the living because to do that meant coming to terms with all those that she did not find. Though at the same time, she knew she needed to look, knew she needed to see who had made it. Some of her friends were here, that much she knew, and Apollo had reappeared here. As before, he’d appeared in the rainforest, winding through the unfamiliar trees just as she had been doing, looking for comfort in a place that had none.
Today she’d taken to wandering the Western Mists, looking to see what else had appeared in this place that might never feel like home. Right now it was impossible to imagine this place would ever be home, though she knows that it would have to become home. Where else would she go and how would she even leave this place? The Rift seemed very much like a one way trip.
A familiar form catches her attention, led by a dragon spirit. Lyanna’s teal eyes snap to attention, trying to figure out what’s going on. She flicks her ears forward, becoming aware of what sounds like a crowd and an uproar not all that far away. She turns her course, following the dragonmare from the Edge toward whatever might be happening. She loses sight of her friend though as the spirits find her, the ghosts that she carries with her coming to life before her eyes. They stand there around her and she digs her feet into the ground, skidding to a halt. Ru, Glasgow, her mother, her father and Corbin. Oh, Corbin.
He looks exactly as she remembers him and not a day older. That is the only clue she has, the only thing that makes her realize it is not him at all before her. Still, like before when the shadows had showed him to her, she cannot help but lose her breath, cannot keep her heart beating in a steady rythmn. “Corbin,” she breathes, her attention on him mostly, though she flicks her gaze between them all. He takes a step forward, muscles rippling beneath his buckskin coat, flames leaping around his feet.
“My dear sister,” he says and the sound of his voice is wrong. She shakes her head, looking around at all the ghosts that have found her. Her heart breaks, but they are all wrong. Glasgow’s horn is fixed, Ru has words on her lips, her parents look at her in such a loving way she knows they cannot be real. Corbin takes another step forward, but she shakes her head. He always called her Lyanna, formal but full of love. Never sister, never some other nickname, only Lyanna.
“No,” she says, and it’s unclear if she’s telling him no or herself. She calls to her wind now, bringing forth a gust to push at the spirits. She calls to the wind again and again, driving them away from her, driving the spirits toward the crowd and more importantly, the god that seems to be clearing the spirits away. She has no idea if it will work, no idea if she can move spirits with nothing but wind, but she tries, tries to help a god she does not know, tries to rid herself of every ghost that haunts her.
Today she’d taken to wandering the Western Mists, looking to see what else had appeared in this place that might never feel like home. Right now it was impossible to imagine this place would ever be home, though she knows that it would have to become home. Where else would she go and how would she even leave this place? The Rift seemed very much like a one way trip.
A familiar form catches her attention, led by a dragon spirit. Lyanna’s teal eyes snap to attention, trying to figure out what’s going on. She flicks her ears forward, becoming aware of what sounds like a crowd and an uproar not all that far away. She turns her course, following the dragonmare from the Edge toward whatever might be happening. She loses sight of her friend though as the spirits find her, the ghosts that she carries with her coming to life before her eyes. They stand there around her and she digs her feet into the ground, skidding to a halt. Ru, Glasgow, her mother, her father and Corbin. Oh, Corbin.
He looks exactly as she remembers him and not a day older. That is the only clue she has, the only thing that makes her realize it is not him at all before her. Still, like before when the shadows had showed him to her, she cannot help but lose her breath, cannot keep her heart beating in a steady rythmn. “Corbin,” she breathes, her attention on him mostly, though she flicks her gaze between them all. He takes a step forward, muscles rippling beneath his buckskin coat, flames leaping around his feet.
“My dear sister,” he says and the sound of his voice is wrong. She shakes her head, looking around at all the ghosts that have found her. Her heart breaks, but they are all wrong. Glasgow’s horn is fixed, Ru has words on her lips, her parents look at her in such a loving way she knows they cannot be real. Corbin takes another step forward, but she shakes her head. He always called her Lyanna, formal but full of love. Never sister, never some other nickname, only Lyanna.
“No,” she says, and it’s unclear if she’s telling him no or herself. She calls to her wind now, bringing forth a gust to push at the spirits. She calls to the wind again and again, driving them away from her, driving the spirits toward the crowd and more importantly, the god that seems to be clearing the spirits away. She has no idea if it will work, no idea if she can move spirits with nothing but wind, but she tries, tries to help a god she does not know, tries to rid herself of every ghost that haunts her.
lyanna
