The dawn unfurled with slow, reverent hands. Mist drifted in pale veils across the meadow, twining between the solemn trees as a prayer rising from unseen altars. The air smelled of rain not yet fallen, of earth warmed by dreamless sleep.
Hemera woke beneath the shelter of a great, ancient oak, the bark at her back cold with dew. The remnants of the vision still clung to her, not as sharp words, but as a radiance pressed behind her ribs, a hush that filled her bones. The Lord had come to her, not as fire nor thunder, but as the stillness between heartbeats. Seek the sacred peak elsewhere, He had breathed, and His voice had slipped into her like the first light through a shuttered room.
She stood, movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of the dream had not yet left her limbs. Her cloak, heavy with mist, slid from her shoulders to trail behind her, stirring up tiny droplets that glittered like scattered stars. Each step she took through the silver grass rang soft and hollow in the great silence of the morning, as if the world were holding its breath: Periane. The name thrummed within her, not with panic, but with quiet yearning.
Hemera did not know where her sister had gone. Only that she would find her, as surely as rivers find the sea, no matter how many stones or forests lie between. The hills stretched out before her, wide and waiting. Somewhere beyond them, the sacred peak slept beneath the heavens. Somewhere beyond them, the path unfurled, unseen but certain.
Hemera paused at the crest of the rise. The sky was blooming now, from pearl to rose to gold, and the first true warmth of morning kissed her cheeks. She lifted her paw and traced a small circle over her heart, a silent prayer, a vow, a shield: „Lead me, O Lord, through shadow and storm, across wilderness and wonder, until I find her hand in mine again, and our steps fall in Your light.”
Without looking back, Hemera stepped forward, and the mist swallowed her like a blessing.
Hemera woke beneath the shelter of a great, ancient oak, the bark at her back cold with dew. The remnants of the vision still clung to her, not as sharp words, but as a radiance pressed behind her ribs, a hush that filled her bones. The Lord had come to her, not as fire nor thunder, but as the stillness between heartbeats. Seek the sacred peak elsewhere, He had breathed, and His voice had slipped into her like the first light through a shuttered room.
She stood, movements slow and deliberate, as if the weight of the dream had not yet left her limbs. Her cloak, heavy with mist, slid from her shoulders to trail behind her, stirring up tiny droplets that glittered like scattered stars. Each step she took through the silver grass rang soft and hollow in the great silence of the morning, as if the world were holding its breath: Periane. The name thrummed within her, not with panic, but with quiet yearning.
Hemera did not know where her sister had gone. Only that she would find her, as surely as rivers find the sea, no matter how many stones or forests lie between. The hills stretched out before her, wide and waiting. Somewhere beyond them, the sacred peak slept beneath the heavens. Somewhere beyond them, the path unfurled, unseen but certain.
Hemera paused at the crest of the rise. The sky was blooming now, from pearl to rose to gold, and the first true warmth of morning kissed her cheeks. She lifted her paw and traced a small circle over her heart, a silent prayer, a vow, a shield: „Lead me, O Lord, through shadow and storm, across wilderness and wonder, until I find her hand in mine again, and our steps fall in Your light.”
Without looking back, Hemera stepped forward, and the mist swallowed her like a blessing.
'common' — 'romanian'
this character is rated r.
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dreams of a faraway land - by Hemera - April 26, 2025, 07:52 AM