His short series of bark rolled across the atoll and atop the open-aired ocean. The responding silence was pervasive and Komodo found himself biting the inside of his cheeks in agitation. The waiting was the angakkuq’s least favorite part, and as all least favorite parts are, it was the most prolonged. Thought he and the spirits had developed a relationship over the years, they did not answer to him. The shaman had no command of their doings, comings and goings. Instead he spoke to them, appealed to them, made them happy in ways that the dedication a corporeal existence could. If they wanted to answer him, they would do so in time — and if they did not, well, there was nothing the man could do about it.
Still he could hear no wailing of ghosts and he nosed about his treasures, admiring each one in turn and examining it for excellence. He believed he could feel the presence of the storm, once far off but now not so far off, and attempted to shake his pelt to rid himself of the cumbersome energy. The unrest was real and the brute was sure he was not the only once to experience it.
Finally, a sound heralded the approach of another! The shewolf was ghostlike and not unlike the the muses in his visions; silent, ethereal. The man blinked his umber eyes once, twice, and still the chimera did not lift. He shifted his posture to face her — she did not speak, and Komodo returned her silence — and it took a few moments that realize that the stranger was not a mirage, conjured by the otherworldly faculties of the gods, but a breathing and tangible thing of blood and bones that was distinctly alive. Still it was a beautiful sights, but the angakkuq sensed something off about her. He felt it as he felt the hurricane brewing off the coast.
“Are you well?” It was a blunt question to a woman he did not know, but he sought no thorough response from the wispy woman; a simple yes or no would suffice. If she indeed was not, he would happily welcome her into his ritual — after all, there was no ailment that pomp and ceremony could not abate, and the power of healing did not diminish when shared between wolf and earth.
Still he could hear no wailing of ghosts and he nosed about his treasures, admiring each one in turn and examining it for excellence. He believed he could feel the presence of the storm, once far off but now not so far off, and attempted to shake his pelt to rid himself of the cumbersome energy. The unrest was real and the brute was sure he was not the only once to experience it.
Finally, a sound heralded the approach of another! The shewolf was ghostlike and not unlike the the muses in his visions; silent, ethereal. The man blinked his umber eyes once, twice, and still the chimera did not lift. He shifted his posture to face her — she did not speak, and Komodo returned her silence — and it took a few moments that realize that the stranger was not a mirage, conjured by the otherworldly faculties of the gods, but a breathing and tangible thing of blood and bones that was distinctly alive. Still it was a beautiful sights, but the angakkuq sensed something off about her. He felt it as he felt the hurricane brewing off the coast.
“Are you well?” It was a blunt question to a woman he did not know, but he sought no thorough response from the wispy woman; a simple yes or no would suffice. If she indeed was not, he would happily welcome her into his ritual — after all, there was no ailment that pomp and ceremony could not abate, and the power of healing did not diminish when shared between wolf and earth.
night clubs & night stalkers
fast women, fast talkers
loose lips, loose limbs
the lovely loveless
fast women, fast talkers
loose lips, loose limbs
the lovely loveless
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Messages In This Thread
RE: wet - by Komodo - May 26, 2017, 10:48 AM