Moonsong Glacier ulalume

directly following this thread; making some assumptions

she travels the fields as fast as she can,

as fast as a broken woman can,

a hind ankle shattered, her tongue in tatters. she leaves a grisly trail behind her like hansel and gretel's breadcrumbs; who will follow? will the witch be satisfied with her exit or will she want more?

and she has no direction, she has no purpose; she only knows to flee. and when she arrives at the glacier and clambers along the icy slope, slipping every third step, her mind is

the world is filled with swirling black dots—

mouth hits hard against snow. it's still gushing, blood pooling slowly over the alabaster surface. and the cool is at once excruciating and immaculate against her tongue and she presses it there, hard, noting the life slipping from it, heartbeat by heartbeat

heartbeat slowing.

she hears it.

will she hear it stop?

or will she lose all sense before her body shuts down?

ta-tum.

ta-tum.



ta-tum.

her tongue lolls as she loses consciousness, eyes fluttering shut, her pulse just a whisper in her throat.

(but still there.)

Reyes had spotted something sharp-bodied and ginger racing across a nearby field. He'd made his way through the woods only to find himself turned around, having been spat out on the ocean-side rather than deeper in to the valley. He blamed his wandering thoughts for that; but as he emerged to a nice gust of humid sea-brine, he spotted the shape.

It looked more like a coyote than anything at that distance. More importantly, it was injured — and as he was already lagging behind in his travels, Reyes figured another day spent roaming around wouldn't hurt. He was hungry, there was food.

So, he picked his way among the green until it transitioned to exposed bedrock, chunks of mineral deposits, and the obvious sign of something wounded: a blood trail leading deeper and deeper through the territory. He doesn't know what, or who, he pursues. The blood twists and turns as the trail winds seemingly without reason — until he spots the ruddy coat of something wiry, collapsed upon the earth.

As Reyes draws closer his shoulders bunch, his top-line of guard hairs raising. He sniffs at the air and finds only the scent of blood; the closer he gets, the less and less hungry he feels, and the more empathetic to the twisted and broken creature laying there before him. He's been there — broken and lost — but, what can he do?

who knows how long he stands there before she comes to again.

but eventually, she opens her eyes, vision blurry, bleary—and thinks she is seeing herself removed from her body. a russet pelt, a strong stance. . .healthy, whole — why has this vision come to taunt her so?

Avicus whines, the sound muffled against the ice. every movement of her tongue brings more blood, but the bleeding has slowed considerably. it's merely a trickle now, oozing from her tattered mouth.

she tries to rise to her paws and immediately sags back down, too weak, too hurting. 

she hates this. she hates feeling this way, vulnerable in the face of possible attack. her reflection could do anything, and she would be powerless to stop it—

her indigo eyes turn upward, staring at the ruddy figure, pleading silently for mercy.

Much like his run-in with the barb-tongued woman (Evermore), Reyes wasn't exactly the helpful sort. When he came upon the bloody trail left by this puny wolf he was thinking, coyote and free meal; it wasn't the best method of gaining protein but it was an option.

When he got a good look at them though, he lost his appetite. Even with the ruddy fur and slender figure, this stranger wasn't a coyote at all. It was some unfortunate wolf who gushed blood from their mouth. They looked less like they were in pain and more dead, at least until they noticed him.

The pitiful look on their face wasn't enough to tug at Reyes' heart strings; he wasn't entirely sure why he lingered at all, except to survey the carnage wrought to them. Bites at their haunch looked fresh, smears of blood across the ginger of their coat rivaled the works of a decent wolf hunt.

Had this girl been hunted?

nothing. her reflection does nothing. just stares, hunched over her like a mourner at a funeral. face reading nothing. eyes showing nothing. just like her.

she is nothing. nothing. nothing.

pleading snaps to fury in an instant. her eyes flash cold fire, her lips curling up to reveal teeth stained with blood. the tattered hunk of flesh that is her tongue protrudes, then retreats, snakelike. she is bristling fire.

leave, her visage reads, though her body is too weak to back it up. leave me alone.

alone

with nothing.

i am nothing.

leave me!