Wapun Meadow there's an oily brine bilge water baptism waiting below
i will pry his bony fingers free
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indra settled into a polite silence, an ear turned towards the slate-painted female that she may listen and fully digest everything that was shared. while her own imagination was in short, crippled, she appreciated the artistry that went into a good story.

and it was a good story; indra was familiar with the lake, and familiar with pike -- that they were called water-wolves was not, in any way shape or form, an untoward idea to indra who had witnessed firsthand the fistful of snaggle teeth in their jaws.

she looked to the forest wraen motioned after, and ever uninspired, tried to follow in wraen's footsteps: "um.. hmm.." yet nothing came. she shifted uncomfortably, disappointed in her failing imagination. "okay.. thousands of years ago in these foothills there was a pack of wolves who worshipped the moon for her fine fairness and her ability to bring about seas and life-giving water. the sun, jealous that he was not worshipped too, pulled away from the earth and brought with his departure a long and dark winter.

the wolves struggled, but without thick coats, many died. the moon was upset to see her subjects tormented by the cold, and gave those that had worshipped her thick coats so they might fight the winter. the sun, unhappy with this subterfuge, came down to earth in the form of a deer so that he might smite the mortals that had rejected him in favor of his sister the moon. the wolves, hungry for winter had chased off their prey, tried to hunt him -- and each wolf that touched his hide was reduced to a flare of burning ash.

the wolves knew then that this was no ordinary deer, but a god, and they fled from him. but the resentful god would not be spurned and chased after them with blades of fire as they fled through the world.

to protect her subjects the moon pulled up great sheets of ice and earth, and in the cradle of this eruption sprung a deep forest so that the wolves could hide from winter and the angry sun. but the sun could not be escaped, and continued his terror. realizing her mortals could not outrun the sun, the moon turned her surviving people into foxes -- and the sun, thinking he had killed off the last of the moon's subjects, settled back contently into the sky."
now the wren has gone to roost and the sky is turning gold,
and like the sky, my soul is also turning.
Messages In This Thread
RE: there's an oily brine bilge water baptism waiting below - by Indra - June 30, 2018, 04:35 PM