Gods forbid if she hasn’t taken every last wrong turn.
But she has no place to be. Dead voices resume their crooning: daughter, find the kootsinpooäh. The ridge looms cold, frosted, its peaks blushing in dusk, long lichen tresses wavering atop stones. Boulders sweat, their gloss skidding claws long-dulled by the journey.
No food has starved her frame, eaten away at muscle. Distressingly, she found she could not even climb. Weak.
Ayovi runs tongue over teeth, and tries again.
But she has no place to be. Dead voices resume their crooning: daughter, find the kootsinpooäh. The ridge looms cold, frosted, its peaks blushing in dusk, long lichen tresses wavering atop stones. Boulders sweat, their gloss skidding claws long-dulled by the journey.
No food has starved her frame, eaten away at muscle. Distressingly, she found she could not even climb. Weak.
Ayovi runs tongue over teeth, and tries again.
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Toome - by Ayovi - December 04, 2024, 01:22 PM