The trees offered shelter; their canopies shielded her from view, and allowed only slivers of moonbeams to pierce them. The cloak billowed erratically around her legs as she ran, it became soaked by the riverbed, entangled by weeds and ripped by jagged stone and twigs. Ribbons of gold whipped wildly before her gaze and she gasped for air in an desperate attempt to fill her lungs. She felt her legs burn; never had she darted through the terrain without care, without watching where her next step would land. The outposts were avoided, instead siding with the wild she loved.
She finally stopped at the first couple of steps of her door. Inside she felt every bit of energy depleted; legs trembled violently and her hands found little peace at her sides. A thousand thoughts ran rampant in her mind. They could be behind the door. They could be waiting in the dark with spears and blades at the ready. Troubled mind was set at ease, however, at the familiar barking that comes from the opposite side of the wooden door. Fingers hesitate the take hold of the door’s handle, but when she did, it swung wide and hard inward, sending a gust of wind to sweep through the abode.
Seated on his haunches, Virgil barked his greeting, but Rivienne was already bent forward, ready to charge and avoid the high attacks that she thought would still come. Dizzied, and sick, she fights back with every fiber of her being to not empty her stomach at her feet. Everything burned, everything wished to give away at this very moment. A hand extended out to seek balance in case she were to fall to the ground.
‘Get control of thyself..’
She curses herself softly and glanced past her shoulder, staring into the dark of the night, how silent it was. This was foreboding, for the woodland realm was never a quiet ambient.
The paranoia planted its seed, she had to move.
Forward she steps, looking at the room as lightning slashed hot across the tapestry of heaven. Light washes inside, causing it to glow brightly despite the lamps she left lit. It was empty here, devoid of much besides the presence of her companion wolf. She feels the sting in her eyes, the blurred images coming to life before her. She saw him there, a spectre of a man, whose eyes of cerulean glittered with mirth, a smile tugged on his lips. He sat near the lute, strumming it lightly before placing it down and heading toward her.
She could almost smell him. The smell she was all too familiar with. It was hers, it was theirs. It was the forest.
And as he came near, he fades into nothingness.
Along with him, the sound of laughter from babes, the shrills and joy. The future is a vision. Not a reality. Rivienne’s own mind was betraying her, and she was falling under its own wicked spell.
Her lips are pressed together, but that does not alleviate how much they twitch as she severely fights back the sob that bubbles in her throat. Closing her eyes to the sensation, to the images plaguing her mind, she sought the blade at her right side and lifted her left hand before her. Tears developed in the basin of her eyes, and with a quick motion of steel, it came across to pierce a thin line across her palm. A gasp broke into the air and she opened her eyes.
This pain substitutes the other. For now.
The blade is secured back in its sheathe, her fingers sink into the bleeding, tender flesh, and she opens her eyes to turn to Virgil. She needed to move, to secure him and Avenger, above all else. Pain, despair, these emotions took a back seat in her mind as she set herself to the task of gathering her satchels. She ripped a portion of her cloak to conceal the wound, temporarily letting it play the part of a bandage. The cabinets were opened quickly; bread and cheeses were tossed carelessly inside. Some fruits and vegetables, some gysahl greens for Avenger, and dried meats for Virgil.
It takes just moments for her to get what she needed, what little clothes she had, the food, the blades that were spread across the table. Then, when she turned to the lute, she took pause. Near it, on a small table that held their charms and delicate trinkets, was the ornate box that held the enchanted lotus she had given to him a year prior, aside it her band of marriage. She approached the items and gingerly lowered herself before the lute and the table.
She opened the box and saw the lotus, still aglow with aether energy. That was put away.
The wedding band was gathered and she felt the energy fading from it, the glitter, of the stone, was not as luminous, the band was losing its own magical property. Taking a breath, she slipped it on her finger, turned it inward, and closed her bloodied hand.
His lute was picked up, then a few wide steps took her to their chamber room, where his quiver and bow rest. She set the bow on her, the quiver as well. The saddle was gathered on her way to the door and she stopped to glance at Virgil. He knew what was taking place, he knew well. They both felt the chill that seeped through. The winds howled through the house. The warning came quick. She could hear what the land was saying.
She finally stopped at the first couple of steps of her door. Inside she felt every bit of energy depleted; legs trembled violently and her hands found little peace at her sides. A thousand thoughts ran rampant in her mind. They could be behind the door. They could be waiting in the dark with spears and blades at the ready. Troubled mind was set at ease, however, at the familiar barking that comes from the opposite side of the wooden door. Fingers hesitate the take hold of the door’s handle, but when she did, it swung wide and hard inward, sending a gust of wind to sweep through the abode.
Seated on his haunches, Virgil barked his greeting, but Rivienne was already bent forward, ready to charge and avoid the high attacks that she thought would still come. Dizzied, and sick, she fights back with every fiber of her being to not empty her stomach at her feet. Everything burned, everything wished to give away at this very moment. A hand extended out to seek balance in case she were to fall to the ground.
‘Get control of thyself..’
She curses herself softly and glanced past her shoulder, staring into the dark of the night, how silent it was. This was foreboding, for the woodland realm was never a quiet ambient.
The paranoia planted its seed, she had to move.
Forward she steps, looking at the room as lightning slashed hot across the tapestry of heaven. Light washes inside, causing it to glow brightly despite the lamps she left lit. It was empty here, devoid of much besides the presence of her companion wolf. She feels the sting in her eyes, the blurred images coming to life before her. She saw him there, a spectre of a man, whose eyes of cerulean glittered with mirth, a smile tugged on his lips. He sat near the lute, strumming it lightly before placing it down and heading toward her.
She could almost smell him. The smell she was all too familiar with. It was hers, it was theirs. It was the forest.
And as he came near, he fades into nothingness.
Along with him, the sound of laughter from babes, the shrills and joy. The future is a vision. Not a reality. Rivienne’s own mind was betraying her, and she was falling under its own wicked spell.
Her lips are pressed together, but that does not alleviate how much they twitch as she severely fights back the sob that bubbles in her throat. Closing her eyes to the sensation, to the images plaguing her mind, she sought the blade at her right side and lifted her left hand before her. Tears developed in the basin of her eyes, and with a quick motion of steel, it came across to pierce a thin line across her palm. A gasp broke into the air and she opened her eyes.
This pain substitutes the other. For now.
For they are coming.
The blade is secured back in its sheathe, her fingers sink into the bleeding, tender flesh, and she opens her eyes to turn to Virgil. She needed to move, to secure him and Avenger, above all else. Pain, despair, these emotions took a back seat in her mind as she set herself to the task of gathering her satchels. She ripped a portion of her cloak to conceal the wound, temporarily letting it play the part of a bandage. The cabinets were opened quickly; bread and cheeses were tossed carelessly inside. Some fruits and vegetables, some gysahl greens for Avenger, and dried meats for Virgil.
It takes just moments for her to get what she needed, what little clothes she had, the food, the blades that were spread across the table. Then, when she turned to the lute, she took pause. Near it, on a small table that held their charms and delicate trinkets, was the ornate box that held the enchanted lotus she had given to him a year prior, aside it her band of marriage. She approached the items and gingerly lowered herself before the lute and the table.
She opened the box and saw the lotus, still aglow with aether energy. That was put away.
The wedding band was gathered and she felt the energy fading from it, the glitter, of the stone, was not as luminous, the band was losing its own magical property. Taking a breath, she slipped it on her finger, turned it inward, and closed her bloodied hand.
His lute was picked up, then a few wide steps took her to their chamber room, where his quiver and bow rest. She set the bow on her, the quiver as well. The saddle was gathered on her way to the door and she stopped to glance at Virgil. He knew what was taking place, he knew well. They both felt the chill that seeped through. The winds howled through the house. The warning came quick. She could hear what the land was saying.
‘They are coming..’
