[ WP-001 ] Fierce Warrior
Posted: Sun Sep 25, 2022 10:45 pm
[imgright]http://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/image ... uncert.png[/imgright]
The lights were burning his eyes.
He would have liked to sleep, or maybe he was asleep and this was just a dream. It felt like a dream, his body sluggish and unresponsive, as though he was wading through the thick underbrush and muck that covered the surface of the swamp water around him. Roots tangled around his legs and he could taste the bitterness of ivy on his tongue, thick and nearly overwhelming.
He was asleep. He was awake.
No, asleep. He was asleep, but it felt strange, as though he was outside of his own mind and watching himself go through the motions. The scene played out in front of him from start to finish and he did nothing but stand there, wondering, waiting (for what, he thought, what do I want) until the kin that moved around him began to step forward. He did not recognize them, their unfamiliar faces slightly blurred around the edges the way things always looked in dreams; smeared replicas of themselves, with watery, uneven lines that made up their forms. Every movement caused ripples, waves against his mind, soft and unassuming.
Fierce Warrior closed his eyes against the brightness. Opened once more.
A few of them had stepped forward - one of each of their kind, though it took him a moment to realize that. The delicate, spindly legs of a zikwa, steps barely audible, looking like easily snappable twigs. The sleek and streamlined body of an acha against a backdrop of a weeping willow, dainty hoof pressing down upon a rune. The wider, shaggier totoma, heavy and brooding, followed by a kimeti doe with curling horns that swept up from her blonde hair. All of them together were what had caused the lights to burst from the obelisk, stretching far, far away across the swamp, too far for Fierce to see the ends of. Eleven strands of light, like eleven strings of a spider's web, each of them reaching out, grasping, curling to pull them (him?) nearer -
He touched the obelisk.
He didn't know why he did, his nose pressing up against the cold stone without Fierce ever having known that he had moved forward to start with. It was moving underwater, the thickness of the dream oppressive and nearly suffocating, but he couldn't stop himself. He wanted to know, wanted to see for himself what this was and what it meant.
He wanted to open his eyes and wake up.
He wanted to stay asleep, because waking meant something he did not understand.
When he woke, he did not go to the obelisk, though it called to him. He could hear the sound of it rolling through his thoughts like thunder, an ache in his chest trying to drag him forward out of his home, away from his bed and towards the stone.
He resisted, barely. When he slept that night he dreamt of nothing but blackness; a poisonous, stinking rot that wrapped itself around his legs, his daughters' legs, his sons' legs, dragging them down into screaming death. They called for him, their heads twisting, hooves flailing, but he could not reach them, no matter how fast he tried to run, no matter how far he went. The darkness ate them from the inside out, crawling up their sides, and they were dying, dying, dead, and he was dead -
He woke up and went to the obelisk. It made him feel sick.
[ word count: 578 ]
The lights were burning his eyes.
He would have liked to sleep, or maybe he was asleep and this was just a dream. It felt like a dream, his body sluggish and unresponsive, as though he was wading through the thick underbrush and muck that covered the surface of the swamp water around him. Roots tangled around his legs and he could taste the bitterness of ivy on his tongue, thick and nearly overwhelming.
He was asleep. He was awake.
No, asleep. He was asleep, but it felt strange, as though he was outside of his own mind and watching himself go through the motions. The scene played out in front of him from start to finish and he did nothing but stand there, wondering, waiting (for what, he thought, what do I want) until the kin that moved around him began to step forward. He did not recognize them, their unfamiliar faces slightly blurred around the edges the way things always looked in dreams; smeared replicas of themselves, with watery, uneven lines that made up their forms. Every movement caused ripples, waves against his mind, soft and unassuming.
Fierce Warrior closed his eyes against the brightness. Opened once more.
A few of them had stepped forward - one of each of their kind, though it took him a moment to realize that. The delicate, spindly legs of a zikwa, steps barely audible, looking like easily snappable twigs. The sleek and streamlined body of an acha against a backdrop of a weeping willow, dainty hoof pressing down upon a rune. The wider, shaggier totoma, heavy and brooding, followed by a kimeti doe with curling horns that swept up from her blonde hair. All of them together were what had caused the lights to burst from the obelisk, stretching far, far away across the swamp, too far for Fierce to see the ends of. Eleven strands of light, like eleven strings of a spider's web, each of them reaching out, grasping, curling to pull them (him?) nearer -
He touched the obelisk.
He didn't know why he did, his nose pressing up against the cold stone without Fierce ever having known that he had moved forward to start with. It was moving underwater, the thickness of the dream oppressive and nearly suffocating, but he couldn't stop himself. He wanted to know, wanted to see for himself what this was and what it meant.
He wanted to open his eyes and wake up.
He wanted to stay asleep, because waking meant something he did not understand.
When he woke, he did not go to the obelisk, though it called to him. He could hear the sound of it rolling through his thoughts like thunder, an ache in his chest trying to drag him forward out of his home, away from his bed and towards the stone.
He resisted, barely. When he slept that night he dreamt of nothing but blackness; a poisonous, stinking rot that wrapped itself around his legs, his daughters' legs, his sons' legs, dragging them down into screaming death. They called for him, their heads twisting, hooves flailing, but he could not reach them, no matter how fast he tried to run, no matter how far he went. The darkness ate them from the inside out, crawling up their sides, and they were dying, dying, dead, and he was dead -
He woke up and went to the obelisk. It made him feel sick.
[ word count: 578 ]