So. The cliffs were occupied once more, and by his mother's former pack, no less. Caiaphas would be pleased. Her son could find no comfort in the thought, only the bone-numbing realization that the only place that felt like home to him was no longer accessible, although he admitted some measure of relief that it wasn't Drageda. Dozens of little ghosts followed Ephraim, a new one born from each bad choice and each mistake, and he was glad that those particular ones remained powerless over him.
But what to do with this knowledge? He mulled the thought over as he traveled down to the willows where he had sheltered for a short time, and then worked his way back across the fields toward Ankyra Sound. It was stupid, because she had wanted nothing to do with him. Heda had told him so herself, but still, he felt the need to visit the grotto. He always did, every time he wandered down this way. More of crypt, he thought with a grim smile and a puff of dry laughter from his nostrils. Try as he might, he could not forget his dam's last moments, nor the grief he held onto for the mom she might have been, if she had wanted him to come home, which she hadn't.
He walked for some time alone, only to freeze upon noticing that between him and Ankyra Sound was Rosalyn. He didn't even remember if he had ever known her name. He didn't think he had ever asked, and he didn't think anyone had ever told him. He certainly didn't remember it now, but he remembered her face. He remembered her on the beach, how he had taunted her, puffed full of Drageda's approval of him. Hot air was all that was. He remembered her when Drageda left. Ephraim wondered if she would have killed him if her belly wasn't fully of babes.
He wondered if she would kill him now. She certainly looked like she was ready to kill somebody, tearing at the ground like that, but would she do it now? What was that even about? He'd been practically a kid back then. Now he was a grown man, a survivalist, and, apparently, someone who still had a death wish, because he surprised even himself when he yipped.
But what to do with this knowledge? He mulled the thought over as he traveled down to the willows where he had sheltered for a short time, and then worked his way back across the fields toward Ankyra Sound. It was stupid, because she had wanted nothing to do with him. Heda had told him so herself, but still, he felt the need to visit the grotto. He always did, every time he wandered down this way. More of crypt, he thought with a grim smile and a puff of dry laughter from his nostrils. Try as he might, he could not forget his dam's last moments, nor the grief he held onto for the mom she might have been, if she had wanted him to come home, which she hadn't.
He walked for some time alone, only to freeze upon noticing that between him and Ankyra Sound was Rosalyn. He didn't even remember if he had ever known her name. He didn't think he had ever asked, and he didn't think anyone had ever told him. He certainly didn't remember it now, but he remembered her face. He remembered her on the beach, how he had taunted her, puffed full of Drageda's approval of him. Hot air was all that was. He remembered her when Drageda left. Ephraim wondered if she would have killed him if her belly wasn't fully of babes.
He wondered if she would kill him now. She certainly looked like she was ready to kill somebody, tearing at the ground like that, but would she do it now? What was that even about? He'd been practically a kid back then. Now he was a grown man, a survivalist, and, apparently, someone who still had a death wish, because he surprised even himself when he yipped.
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Messages In This Thread
Wore my language like an amaranth and brand on my tongue - by Rosalyn - January 01, 2021, 06:11 AM
RE: Wore my language like an amaranth and brand on my tongue - by Ephraim - January 04, 2021, 07:23 PM
RE: Wore my language like an amaranth and brand on my tongue - by Rosalyn - January 05, 2021, 07:54 PM
RE: Wore my language like an amaranth and brand on my tongue - by Ephraim - January 11, 2021, 10:53 AM
RE: Wore my language like an amaranth and brand on my tongue - by Rosalyn - January 13, 2021, 04:58 PM