Part 19
A mournful sigh whispered through the wood, rustling the leaves across the ground as if the dead themselves trod through the forest of their memories, invisible to the eyes of the living. For just a moment, he wondered which world was his... that of the living, or of the dead... But the thought passed as quickly as the wind between the gnarled branches above, pouring like hope through the outstretched fingers of the doomed.
He looked back to the cairn behind him, the natural outcrop of rock where an unseen crevice lead to a past he could never reclaim: his hopes, his life, his love... his Goddess. Illestra. She who bore him into the world of moonlight and shadow, who had saved his life by claiming it as her own. But she was taken from him in the moments of his birth, and he would never know the comforting touch of a mother's hand. For all the years he'd spent learning of her, he'd only moments to truly know her. And he knew, by the look in her eyes as those devastating lashes closed one last time, that they would never open again. She had found peace in those final moments, a peace he'd never known she sought, a peace from which she'd never return.
He looked up, and saw through the branches the moon above, tinged through with the crimson mist that welled beneath his eyes... a moon that despite his gift would never shine as brightly or as brilliantly as it did when he first saw it reflected in her eyes. A cold, beautiful moon that cared nothing for his pain. Shoulders slumped, he fell to his knees, head bowed forward as silken hair cascaded down over his face, hiding it in the shadow.
She had abandoned him.
He reached out pathetically towards the rocks, as if the motion could somehow draw a whisper from the breeze... some sort of assurance that she was still there. But all he heard in return was the sigh of wind as it whistled through the dead wood. And in that moment, he realized the answer to the question that had crossed his mind ever so fleetingly before. His was neither the world of the living, nor that of the dead. His world lay in the mournful howl of the winds which blew through both.
And he was alone.
He looked back to the cairn behind him, the natural outcrop of rock where an unseen crevice lead to a past he could never reclaim: his hopes, his life, his love... his Goddess. Illestra. She who bore him into the world of moonlight and shadow, who had saved his life by claiming it as her own. But she was taken from him in the moments of his birth, and he would never know the comforting touch of a mother's hand. For all the years he'd spent learning of her, he'd only moments to truly know her. And he knew, by the look in her eyes as those devastating lashes closed one last time, that they would never open again. She had found peace in those final moments, a peace he'd never known she sought, a peace from which she'd never return.
He looked up, and saw through the branches the moon above, tinged through with the crimson mist that welled beneath his eyes... a moon that despite his gift would never shine as brightly or as brilliantly as it did when he first saw it reflected in her eyes. A cold, beautiful moon that cared nothing for his pain. Shoulders slumped, he fell to his knees, head bowed forward as silken hair cascaded down over his face, hiding it in the shadow.
She had abandoned him.
He reached out pathetically towards the rocks, as if the motion could somehow draw a whisper from the breeze... some sort of assurance that she was still there. But all he heard in return was the sigh of wind as it whistled through the dead wood. And in that moment, he realized the answer to the question that had crossed his mind ever so fleetingly before. His was neither the world of the living, nor that of the dead. His world lay in the mournful howl of the winds which blew through both.
And he was alone.
posted by Shadowsong | 6:56 PM
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