Mount Apikuni fog of war

the world had become a raging twisting, winding mess.

her husband lay dead in a rest in akashingo. she had been sent beyond. she mourned from mountain tops as if she might see him. as if son and daughter may hear her and come away, even if she was too far. yet the sun greeted her every day and the world remained silent.

but there is a soft rustle.

a soft sound of snow shifting slightly.

and she is spinning before she knows it, wide eyes and exposed teeth.