saint, saint, saint —
a useless word that slinks 'round their skull, on a low pitched, reedy hiss ... like air pushing from bone. rattling. empty.
a voice they would grow ever familiar with the older they grow.
and they would grow.
the trip to this place had been rocky, uncomfortable. anger and hunger inducing. but they had not ingested the poison that two of their siblings had.
no.
they are a lovely, dark bud that grows strong and will blossom.
a deceptively beautiful but invasive species; the young witchling.
the goddess vaermina has made her mark, a soul tether, an engraving of bones, or a piece of herself sparking life into and upon the young witchling, once named saint but now nameless. witnessed in the cursed right eye; siphoned of color and much vision until nothing but obscure shadows of the living world are all they can see.
the blackwater of their dreams, though only glimpsed thru the murky, developing vision of their good eye haunt their dreams. calls to them in their restless, fitful dreams so that in their waking hours they rebel; stubborn.
try, though it is futile, to squirm away from the extra press of bodies that are not their siblings ( though their siblings are there ) from the mothers milk that does not taste the same, towards the dark lullaby of the darkwater.
they never get far.
they are too young to truly remember their witchmother, but they remember her scent, they remember the disruption of their entire life, they remember the bark sled, the chill of the saltwater.
they remember greedily drinking the mothersmilk offered after being painfully hungry for what, to their young, not fully understanding mind: felt like a lifetime.
they know with a sinking feeling in their gut as they scramble to paws too clumsy, legs too shaky, the feeling too that they will not get far. the strangers are vigilant.
a useless word that slinks 'round their skull, on a low pitched, reedy hiss ... like air pushing from bone. rattling. empty.
a voice they would grow ever familiar with the older they grow.
and they would grow.
the trip to this place had been rocky, uncomfortable. anger and hunger inducing. but they had not ingested the poison that two of their siblings had.
no.
they are a lovely, dark bud that grows strong and will blossom.
a deceptively beautiful but invasive species; the young witchling.
the goddess vaermina has made her mark, a soul tether, an engraving of bones, or a piece of herself sparking life into and upon the young witchling, once named saint but now nameless. witnessed in the cursed right eye; siphoned of color and much vision until nothing but obscure shadows of the living world are all they can see.
the blackwater of their dreams, though only glimpsed thru the murky, developing vision of their good eye haunt their dreams. calls to them in their restless, fitful dreams so that in their waking hours they rebel; stubborn.
try, though it is futile, to squirm away from the extra press of bodies that are not their siblings ( though their siblings are there ) from the mothers milk that does not taste the same, towards the dark lullaby of the darkwater.
they never get far.
they are too young to truly remember their witchmother, but they remember her scent, they remember the disruption of their entire life, they remember the bark sled, the chill of the saltwater.
they remember greedily drinking the mothersmilk offered after being painfully hungry for what, to their young, not fully understanding mind: felt like a lifetime.
they know with a sinking feeling in their gut as they scramble to paws too clumsy, legs too shaky, the feeling too that they will not get far. the strangers are vigilant.
June 29, 2023, 12:06 PM
They had not been here long and they were so small. It was surprising how such little things could disrupt lives so much and how quickly which they did so. Malakai was happy more then ever that he was now old enough to venture around the outside of the birthing den. Any younger and he would of had to have been forced to keep inside with these little strangers every moment of the day and night.
Even now, he rest outside the opening of the den. Laid out in the grasses, his eyes closed as he listened to the sound of crashing waves in the distance. On his lips he murmured a hymn, one which his mother and sister had sang time and time again.
The stirring of another's approach disrupts his worship and his head lifts, hard on the coal-coated child of darkness. He looks to them and their milky white eye. Two of them were sickly. One of them with a blind eye and the last, a bloodied mark of cain upon her face. Children born of sin. And so, he now sang, as he moved to use his body in blocking their path.
Even now, he rest outside the opening of the den. Laid out in the grasses, his eyes closed as he listened to the sound of crashing waves in the distance. On his lips he murmured a hymn, one which his mother and sister had sang time and time again.
The stirring of another's approach disrupts his worship and his head lifts, hard on the coal-coated child of darkness. He looks to them and their milky white eye. Two of them were sickly. One of them with a blind eye and the last, a bloodied mark of cain upon her face. Children born of sin. And so, he now sang, as he moved to use his body in blocking their path.
Weak and wounded sinner / Lost and left to die / O, raise your head, for love is passing by / Come to Jesus / Come to Jesus / Come to Jesus and live!
their path is blocked and the thing they feel building and coiling tight inside them they would come to learn is rage.
even though they have no name for it, saint recoils with the audacity; huffing loudly at the song sang by the older boy.
though they would think that song was quite a claim. the words draw forth a inky hiss from their lips; blind eye staring eerily at the boy while their seeing eye roves, gazing darting to and fro.
but they are not a demon banished by psalms.
something like hysteria bubbles in the witchling's lips instead; a giggle. soft. lovely but barbed like rosethorns.
even though they have no name for it, saint recoils with the audacity; huffing loudly at the song sang by the older boy.
though they would think that song was quite a claim. the words draw forth a inky hiss from their lips; blind eye staring eerily at the boy while their seeing eye roves, gazing darting to and fro.
but they are not a demon banished by psalms.
something like hysteria bubbles in the witchling's lips instead; a giggle. soft. lovely but barbed like rosethorns.
July 06, 2023, 01:00 PM
The pups recoils - huffing, hissing even! Surely they were far too young to understand really what Kai was talking about, let alone doing it in a passive-agressive nature to the lot of them. Holy mother of God. They really WERE evil!
Kai lifts his head and ears high, looking around in every which way- for @Simeon, for @Dinah (who were both probably far and out and about as they had been) and then peering his head in to see if @Judah had noticed this.
Malakai tosses his attention back to the little witch as her eyes dart about- perhaps unable to look the holy directly in the eye! She laughs then, mockingly. Kai's nose wrinkles and he leans back. He would stay by the entrance and make sure she did not escape, but he had no interest in going near that thing.
Kai lifts his head and ears high, looking around in every which way- for @Simeon, for @Dinah (who were both probably far and out and about as they had been) and then peering his head in to see if @Judah had noticed this.
Malakai tosses his attention back to the little witch as her eyes dart about- perhaps unable to look the holy directly in the eye! She laughs then, mockingly. Kai's nose wrinkles and he leans back. He would stay by the entrance and make sure she did not escape, but he had no interest in going near that thing.
July 08, 2023, 05:35 PM
though saint does not realize the connotations behind the boy's song or their own reaction to it: it achieves one good thing. the boy ceases to sing.
it is a relief to saint's ears, and they flash their teeth to the older boy; rife with warring feelings. feelings they have no name for. feelings that weed their way beneath their skin.
a haughty blink is given, a clumsy gesture of their muzzle. go, it would command; born of ignorance and a desire to feel some modicum of control in their world that which had been wrenched upside down beneath them.
without their consent.
their weight shifts and they stumble; unused to the weight of their body on their twig legs.
it is a relief to saint's ears, and they flash their teeth to the older boy; rife with warring feelings. feelings they have no name for. feelings that weed their way beneath their skin.
a haughty blink is given, a clumsy gesture of their muzzle. go, it would command; born of ignorance and a desire to feel some modicum of control in their world that which had been wrenched upside down beneath them.
without their consent.
their weight shifts and they stumble; unused to the weight of their body on their twig legs.
July 26, 2023, 02:35 PM
Her teeth are barred, muzzle jutting into his direction for him to 'get'. Malakai's eyes narrow. His impatience for ignorance and disrespect obvious now in these moments. But he says nothing. Only watches her with a hard stare and then to mockingly smirk as she stumbles over herself. No, he would not waste his righteous breath on her.
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