November 03, 2020, 04:33 PM
He climbed through the foothills to the tree line, where his energy level began to taper off. The world was cast in fog; snow was falling, had fallen, he couldn't see straight, dragging himself through the gaps of shadow until he found the lake.
Red painted the trees he barrelled in to, stained the winterfat growing as a barrier among them, leaked upon the snow and dissolved in to the lake that was named for his mother.
Sleep wanted him. It would be easy to slip away now—back to the fever dreams, to the death that called to him.
Wasted her herbs, he remembered telling her. No, her denial, willing to do what was needed for him. He was a fool; he had wronged so many people, continued to fall back on old habits, tried to take what he wanted and live as he pleased. For what? To bleed alone where his only companion was the ice?
Kukutux. He had to do something—she wouldn't, couldn't help him, so many chances spoiled. Bracing himself for the struggle ahead, Revui lifts himself from the bank of the lake. He feels the world tremble, unaware it is the shaking of torn muscles and the shock beginning to wear thin.
Yarrow. He needs yarrow. It is the white flower on a green stalk - that much he remembers from his many visits to the healers; but he sees the winterfat instead and in his haste, thinks the spires of withered white are sufficient. He falls in to the trees as if he is one of them, his body booming as it hits the dirt, felled.
Red painted the trees he barrelled in to, stained the winterfat growing as a barrier among them, leaked upon the snow and dissolved in to the lake that was named for his mother.
Sleep wanted him. It would be easy to slip away now—back to the fever dreams, to the death that called to him.
Wasted her herbs, he remembered telling her. No, her denial, willing to do what was needed for him. He was a fool; he had wronged so many people, continued to fall back on old habits, tried to take what he wanted and live as he pleased. For what? To bleed alone where his only companion was the ice?
Kukutux. He had to do something—she wouldn't, couldn't help him, so many chances spoiled. Bracing himself for the struggle ahead, Revui lifts himself from the bank of the lake. He feels the world tremble, unaware it is the shaking of torn muscles and the shock beginning to wear thin.
Yarrow. He needs yarrow. It is the white flower on a green stalk - that much he remembers from his many visits to the healers; but he sees the winterfat instead and in his haste, thinks the spires of withered white are sufficient. He falls in to the trees as if he is one of them, his body booming as it hits the dirt, felled.