Wyrm's Naming Dreams

[Wyrm]

god this will be a mess

[Wyrm]

Darkness.

Death is in the air. She knows who it is, the one to die.

She herself.

Her belly swollen from hunger, and from another soul destined to die. Muscles aching from every step she takes, the snow biting her through the winter coat. But she must go on, she must.

There. Her destination was before her, with no strength left.

She collapses upon the frozen pond, eyes glazing over, but in their stillness speaking more than words ever could.

Please, give this child a chance that I cannot give it.

I beg of you, Swamp Mother.

I beg of you.

A strange wind is passing through the majestic trees, but the doe can't hear it.

She can't do anything anymore.

And she can't help the wind in moving something inside her body, struggling to get it out, and finally succeeding.

The Swamp Mother heard her child's plea, and She wanted to let her daughter know it.


The last thing the mother ever saw was the embodiment of all her love for her child.


A  Fragile Sunrise.


This wasn't her, and it wasn't her mother. Maybe it was a long ago ancestor, or maybe a future mother and child, of her kin.

Regardless, that was her own name, a tribute to generations past, and those yet to come.

Her purpose.

[Wyrm]

the sun shines hot upon the swamp and all is still. a crane lifts off with nary a sound, and only the willow whispers in response to its hushed grace.

[Wyrm]

everyone knows that unbearable feeling of the pain pulsing under your skin and the need to scream but your pride

        chokes you
           
            kills you

but stays true to you

and you grit your teeth and all that you utter is a

hiss
of
fury

[Wyrm]

"She is mine," cried the Earth, "For I nurtured her against my heart,"

"No, she is mine," hissed the Sky, "For I warmed her with the sun's rays,"

Only the flower remained silent, gently blooming.

[Wyrm]

soothing, healing, scathing lies

[Wyrm]

Mud drips from bloodied feathers, and the bodies around you lie hauntingly still. There is nothing left, no family, no love, no hope. You should not be anymore, either, and you will leave soon. Your breath grows ragged, but before you go, a sound builds and builds within your breast. And you open your mouth and it rips your heart raw as it echoes and echoes, a harrowing, dismal, futile swanscream.