Blackwater Islands driftwood

the early hours of morning were spent in the speaker’s frigid den. silent was she, attentive to. her eyes were fixed upon her stomach with breath hitched for what felt like an eternity. she waited life to writhe within her.

too early, she thought.

the sun stood above the earth now. morgana had emerged from the den.

should she seek out melena? tell her of her deed?
not yet. it was too early.

morgana’s mind was in a distant place as she roamed the shore. a place filled with distant noise that did not cease.
but it hushed when she saw her. a waterlogged woman.

morgana’s approach was slow. at a certain point she stopped. far enough to avoid frightened teeth, but close enough to confirm whether or not she still lived.