Ouroboros Spine A cage for your own bird?

The man spoke of his task: to hunt for the remaining survivors on the mountain. Yet it was a task that led him nowhere, as by his own admission he had found nothing. Raimo felt an empathetic sadness upon hearing the news; competing with that was a sense of satisfaction, for it meant that the women were truly alone, and his presence could progress from tolerated to wanted. Or so he thought.


I came to them after, Raimo explained as he answered the questions. They asked the wind for help and I heard the call. He was quite proud of himself for that; how fortuitous that he would be lured in to the mountain range by that flash of light, and then given a purpose, a home. He was, to some degree, thankful for the fall of the mountain.

I have been hunting for them since. The meat I bring warms their bellies and, I hope, melts their hearts. But I imagine their sadness will linger no matter what I do. For a moment Raimo paused, thoughtful. He turned the questions back upon the stranger then. I fear that telling them the truth, that you were not successful, will hurt them. Perhaps it is better to wait until their songs are sung?