It had been some several days since her encounter with Taikon and she had not seen the haggard man of gold in the week that followed their confrontation. Imaq regained a measure of her confidence as she took to exploring the swamps and woods, settling in even though the feeling that eyes raked over her skin never seemed to abate.
The morning had found her wandering the lesser known corners of the Woods, now that the recent snows had stopped -- draping the timberlands in the vintage hues of an old photograph. At midday she chanced upon the clearing, the snow turning it into a place of cold beauty and mystery. The long strands of the willow tree were half-frozen, tinkling like a wind chime as they were caught in a fierce wind, but not so frozen that the debilitating spores were not released.
As she padded forward, curling her haunches beneath her as she stared up at the tree in admiration, Imaq breathed them in unwittingly -- unaware of the danger she was in. Within minutes, her eyes had grown glassy and her lips were beginning to part as a dazed, slightly frightened look crept over her gilded countenance. She flinched as a grating caw broke through the gauzy haze enveloping her mind, cracked gaze of seaglass rising to the crow where he sat amongst the branches of the willow -- peering down at her with a cruel, beady eye of onyx.
Her gaze dropped, moving past the tree entirely to where the shadows twisted and writhed in disturbing, monstrous silhouettes. Voices breathed to life in her mind, confusing nonsense: a jumble of whispers in common, her own tongue, and one she didn't recognize at all -- Daedric perhaps. The crow was forgotten then as the huge, umber form of Salik strode from the darkness as if birthed by the shadows.
Your fault. Witch. Cur. Abomination. You deserved it.
She couldn't make out everything her father said, her eyes squeezing shut as her ears pinned and she crumpled to the ground -- unable to bear the sight of him stalking forward, still able to catch hints of the venomous words he seethed in her direction as she covered her ears with her paws. She tried desperately to block out the snarls and snaps of him closing in on her, until she felt the physical brush of his fangs across her skin.
This was what caused her mind to snap and take on the panicked desperation of a feral creature. She lurched to her feet, fangs flashing as she lunged upwards wildly -- a fearsome snarl of her own tearing from the piebald's throat. She met no resistance, stumbling forward through empty air where moments ago her father appeared to have stood.
Your fault, your fault, your fault...
It was a new voice that hissed in her ears, provoking another terrified growl to leave the medicine woman's lips as she whipped around in search of its source -- causing the unseen apparition to cackle menacingly. Unable to grasp what was happening, the shaman's stomach rolled suddenly with nausea and she doubled over -- retching the contents of her stomach into the snow before blindly turning and stumbling drunkenly from the grove with the daemon's laughter chasing after her.
Wild with fright, the shepherd fled through the Woods -- not really seeing the blurs of brown and white as the forest whipped by -- and then beyond them out onto the Flatlands, not even in the right state of mind to realize she had left her newfound home and pack far behind.
The morning had found her wandering the lesser known corners of the Woods, now that the recent snows had stopped -- draping the timberlands in the vintage hues of an old photograph. At midday she chanced upon the clearing, the snow turning it into a place of cold beauty and mystery. The long strands of the willow tree were half-frozen, tinkling like a wind chime as they were caught in a fierce wind, but not so frozen that the debilitating spores were not released.
As she padded forward, curling her haunches beneath her as she stared up at the tree in admiration, Imaq breathed them in unwittingly -- unaware of the danger she was in. Within minutes, her eyes had grown glassy and her lips were beginning to part as a dazed, slightly frightened look crept over her gilded countenance. She flinched as a grating caw broke through the gauzy haze enveloping her mind, cracked gaze of seaglass rising to the crow where he sat amongst the branches of the willow -- peering down at her with a cruel, beady eye of onyx.
Her gaze dropped, moving past the tree entirely to where the shadows twisted and writhed in disturbing, monstrous silhouettes. Voices breathed to life in her mind, confusing nonsense: a jumble of whispers in common, her own tongue, and one she didn't recognize at all -- Daedric perhaps. The crow was forgotten then as the huge, umber form of Salik strode from the darkness as if birthed by the shadows.
Your fault. Witch. Cur. Abomination. You deserved it.
She couldn't make out everything her father said, her eyes squeezing shut as her ears pinned and she crumpled to the ground -- unable to bear the sight of him stalking forward, still able to catch hints of the venomous words he seethed in her direction as she covered her ears with her paws. She tried desperately to block out the snarls and snaps of him closing in on her, until she felt the physical brush of his fangs across her skin.
This was what caused her mind to snap and take on the panicked desperation of a feral creature. She lurched to her feet, fangs flashing as she lunged upwards wildly -- a fearsome snarl of her own tearing from the piebald's throat. She met no resistance, stumbling forward through empty air where moments ago her father appeared to have stood.
Your fault, your fault, your fault...
It was a new voice that hissed in her ears, provoking another terrified growl to leave the medicine woman's lips as she whipped around in search of its source -- causing the unseen apparition to cackle menacingly. Unable to grasp what was happening, the shaman's stomach rolled suddenly with nausea and she doubled over -- retching the contents of her stomach into the snow before blindly turning and stumbling drunkenly from the grove with the daemon's laughter chasing after her.
Wild with fright, the shepherd fled through the Woods -- not really seeing the blurs of brown and white as the forest whipped by -- and then beyond them out onto the Flatlands, not even in the right state of mind to realize she had left her newfound home and pack far behind.
"...and all around was the bitter arctic cold and the immense silence of the North..."
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but if I sit in the rain - by Imaq - February 18, 2021, 01:56 PM