{retired}

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... itable.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... tyours.gif[/imgright]


It had been inconvenient at first. The river’s curve where his family, for generations, had come to fish had been overtaken by—there was no nice way to say it—a fat mountain. He’d watched in aggravation as it refused to move and only laughed when he’d threatened to remove him. (He cursed for the rest of the day and his stomach rumbled in utter starvation.)

Then it had been his favorite tree—a swarm of bees lived in a hive, up high and often it dripped down into crevices he could reach—that the unwelcome intruder had knocked over! As if it could’ve done anything to the stupid brute. (He raged when the hive was discovered mashed to pieces; he snuck a few pieces and promised the damn totoma would be dealt with.)

He took to dragging his hooves into dirt and bark, deep angry marks that said in bold symbols: mine. (They were mostly scratches that were made up on the spot.) He began to roam, with narrowed eyes and a loud growl, his most favorite haunts. And yet, every time he returned to one he’d only left half a day before, he found his marks transformed into claims not his own. He seethed. (Teeth bit down and loosed blood on his tongue.)

Petulant, he began to scratch out the marks. He made the dirt and bark flat, erased the grooves left by another. Two could play at the trespasser’s game. And when he’d managed to clear that imposter’s presence from his lands, he slept. (He dreamed of death and hungered.)

He woke to the shaggy pelt of a totoma. Sleep fled in fear as blood raged, hot, and he leapt to his feet. He could see near his feet the same marking that had overtaken his own and he threw himself at it. His hooves dug two harsh ruts at slight angles until a looming X voided the claimant’s mark.

The totoma’s gaze was perplexed but unmoved and the acha, he rose with venom on his breath.

“X means not yours; this land is mine! It’s mine and you can’t be here!”

When no words came from the fat mountain, the acha reared and fell upon it. Once, twice, over and over again until the eyes were void of life, he beat down. Breathing ragged, he stilled and watched as blood seeped into the vicious X. His.

“Not yours,” the acha heaved, “mine.” And the crushing rage ceased. Anger abated. It was his, forever his, and everyone would know. He’d paint it red all over the swamp. That blazing X would be his name, his symbol. It would shout his ownership to everyone who ever saw it.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... atcher.gif[/imgright]


There was a legend: sleep under a spider’s web and it shall catch the nightmares…

The female withdrew, the need for blood sated, as her delicate wings fluttered. Below her, the rabbit twisted to scratch wildly. The raised skin, a splotch of white, would soon turn angry and the itch would be far worse. It was, however, far from her concern; she needed blood to lay eggs. To go without, would mean extinction. The rabbit had plenty of blood; it would not miss the small amount she’d taken. (Nor would the fox or the bear or the serpent…)

The mosquito buzzed lightly through the air. Dusk was fading into night and she needed to find a safe stagnant pool to lay her eggs. The scent that called her to hunger must go unfound.

It was as she turned away—instincts were not infallible—that she became caught. Legs, wings, and body were caught tight in the sticky web of a spider. She fought, struggled, but only became more bound. And as she lay vulnerable, she felt heat. The web turned red, ran with blood—the air smelled of victims, of those she’d taken from.

Mosquitoes do not have legends but if they had, she would know to be caught in a spider’s web is to be besieged with nightmares. It acts as a dreamcatcher. And as it catches dreams, so it may infect them.

…but be careful, for it that same web touches you, you shall forever be plagued with nightmares.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... ystone.gif[/imgright]


Ago—was it years or centuries or eons, perhaps only the earth knew that—there was a cave. It was nothing spectacular, not large and sprawling nor uniquely small. It was adequate and as time sped forward there was much use in its stone stronghold. Until the age of thunderstorms, when lightning bolts struck it relentless until it fractured weak.

The remnants were but rubble. Except the entrance, an arch splintered into fragments—one key stone rested at the top, pressed on either side by the dark gray stone siblings that had once been its own self, jagged and littered with white scars was near luminous—stood firm. Even the earthquake did not unseat the foundation of an immovable family.

Wind and rain, time’s rough weathered hands, do not erode the strength. It outlasts, perseveres. All due to a keystone that binds the remnants together; a mere rock that will not fall.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... estars.gif[/imgright]


let me stay
for the night
with love, please

one last reprieve
then willingly i
shall go, death

tomorrow, new life
tonight, this life
under the stars

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... winged.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... livant.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... tohide.gif[/imgright]


“You are in danger.”

The words come from a shadow; one that has followed behind her since her birth. She has nicknamed it imp and delights in its presence. This sound is not an invitation of play and she feels—

“Please, you must hide.”

Hide and seek is a common enough game. She is quite good at finding places that others are too big to fit in. This place, however, is barren and she will be too bright in this landscape.

“Change, the way I showed you before.”

She has only done it once, become a shadow. It is not so easy as one would think. She closes her eyes and concentrates.

It is only the shadow that sees the gold flash, the bird colored blue like sea and sky appearing to fetch the child’s disguise in its beak. The child is changed, hidden within the body of another. And the shadow dissipates.

The child’s eyes open and she knows she must seek to hide her brightness.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... wisdom.gif[/imgright]


A bluebird settles on the princess’s crown.  It sings as its feathers molt, blue turns into gold, into a necklace that rings her throat. A feather for each of her sons—five boys that make her smile and break her heart—that will one day rule in her stead. None are ready; none will be good leaders. She needs a daughter, filled with wisdom, to lead when she dies. And she goes to the springs where wishes are sometimes granted.

“May she be kind,” she asks, as the first feather of gold is dropped into the ripping waters, for her first son is kind. Too kind, in fact, for he would lose himself to the demands of all that surround him.

“May she be righteous,” she thinks, in honor of her second son who is wholly given to doing what is right. And yet so driven is he that he is lost to reason.

“May she be courageous,” she hopes, as her third son quails at nothing. Fearless, however, he forgets that there are times when courage must be forfeited in favor of survival. A leader who sacrifices himself and leaves his followers unled is foolish.

In favor of her fourth son, “May she be intuitive,” she declares. He knows at once who is goodhearted and who wishes to dole out harm. With such a gift, comes great judgement and he is mired in grudges that push him far past the reaches of the rest.

A laugh of amusement blooms as she thinks of her youngest, “Oh, may she be playful,” because a life without play is dull indeed. The last-born however is all prankster and while meaning no harm, he would never be trusted.

Feathers gone, she drops a pink iris into the water, “May she be wise,” and then she kneels.

In the sky, a great star falls and the hoot of an owl cries.

The princess gives birth to a daughter.

Her brothers, relieved, lead the hopeful cheer, “May she be the keeper of wisdom.”

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... mystic.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... uasion.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... geless.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... llevil.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... savior.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.

[anemosagkelos]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... awkeye.gif[/imgright]


This kin does not yet have a naming dream posted.