Greatwater Lake theology & civilization

@Damien!

 

Already, night descended. Having woke only just as the sun disappeared beneath the ocean's tide, Antigone was way too chipper to have opened her eyes to darkness. What few days she'd spent gaining her bearings in this strange (and vast) land had been spent in sunlight, and while she appreciated the warmth and what few showers of rain she'd enjoyed, there was nothing better than the light of the moon. And on this night, thankfully, she was bright in her black furs, shining that comforting eerie light over the plains her oracle travelled and glittering off the lake she came across.

Antigone rounded its bank for what seemed like ages before coming to what she hoped was the other side - it's most southern point from where she'd entered was the best place to drink, and she took gulps. The day had been long, and her paws ached from the constant movement. She could visit the bog again, the one she'd found around the mountain, but it hadn't been right. With no trees overhead, it was just too powerful; no living Phyrgian was meant to be in a place where the moon and water met with no shadow. Here, though, the water was held in the earth, and seeing its end on the bank across the way (however far) meant that it wasn't as great as the horizonless bog.

She had been taught not to stare at the face of the moon as one might be told not to stare at the sun - going moonblind was a thing, though cataracs seemed to look awful similar. But oracles got special passes; at least, that's what she told herself, tracing the soft grey shapes against the shining white canvas. Even the moon grew old - Antigone could only hope she'd be as beautiful when she did. (Though growing old didn't excite her in the least bit, no way.) Quietly, she dropped her head to the lake, lapping her fill until her throat burned icy cold. She didn't rest to her belly or lean back on her hips. Instead, she stood solid, dark face turned skyward.