Shimmering Sands muradoii III

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— the calves fall quiet beneath her gaze. it is the power of their mother. it is the obedience she has reared into them.

they are born of her flesh, suckled at her blood. now they will learn to kneel not to gods in sky nor fathers on thrones, but to the black mouth of the sea.

their fur is buffeted by the same storm she once stood beneath as a girl, trembling. their mother grins down with blood-stained bridgework. her voice rises again, louder, so that the waves must bend to hear it.

we are muradoii. the sea hunts with us. it kills with us. muradoii do not fear death. we offer it.

their mother sits. feeling the crash of wave in the distance, the sea salt flung upon her fur once more after months of roaming valley and taiga. in the everdark, when sun did not rise and the black sea froze so thick even spirits could not pass through, our foremothers built fire with bone.

they say we are monsters. blood-drinkers. baby-killers. good. let them. we are not meant to be loved.

they buried the first matron of muradoii beneath the black sea. she killed her husband, took his blood, and carved a shrine of his ribs. the sea remembers her name. every time you bleed into the tide, she hears you.