Unknown2008-05-21 04:04:50
Darkness slipped over the horizon, its hands grasping hungrily at the ground. The sky lay cloudless and barren, still aflame with a palette of crimsons, deep purples, and earthy yellows. A crisp breeze played about the hands of Catarin, who stood upon a jutting outcrop of the Razine mountains. Her eyes took in the beauty of the Basin in all of its entirety, relishing the breeze and the coming of a new spring. Before her, the ground dropped away to reveal a cliff that stood as a sentinel above Dairuchi village. A cough brought from behind brought her mind away from its solemn, quiet hymn and back to the world that had taken her daughter from her.
"Catarin, we should go," came Anisu's voice, careful and quiet. Catarin didn't turn around or make any movements to leave. Instead, she remained where she was, letting the evening breeze pull about her in a game of tag among her golden armor. "Catarin..."
"I heard you, Anisu," she snapped, her temper rising and hissing within her. "If you want to leave, you are more than welcome to. I, however, will remain here until I am good and ready to leave." She felt a wash of startled fright catch Anisu, replaced by an almost indignant anger. She knew her words would strike and cause anger, but at this point, there wasn't more she could really lose. Anisu started to apologize, but Catarin raised a hand. Raziela, give me peace, she prayed to herself, but something within her spoke the words she was too fearful to say. They say the pain gets easier to bear with time. No. It just gets worse. Everywhere she turned, she saw her daughter. Every waking hour, she saw Metea. In every dream and nightmare, she saw her. It almost made life unbearable. Enough of that, she told herself. She's gone. That final truth, even though it was all too true, seemed more like a lie every day. The real truth was that she missed her lesser half; a little girl she had raised and poured herself into.
"It is unnatural, Anisu," she said more to herself than to the person behind her. Anisu blinked at Catarin's back, quirking an eyebrow.
"M'am?" Anisu asked, not understanding where this particular thought had come from. Catarin turned her head to look at the faeling, her golden hair framing her lineful face.
"A parent should never outlive their children. It is unnatural," Catarin replied, her eyes full with the pain that wracked itself against her chest. Anisu nodded slowly, tearing her eyes away from Catarin's. The pain held within was far too much for her to see. She remembered a cheerful Catarin, who would always bark out orders and then make a snide and satirical remark afterwards. This person wasn't Catarin; not the woman she had grown fond of.
Anisu placed a hand on Catarin's nearest shoulder, pushing gently to move the woman away from the cliff and towards a nearby road framed by slumbering rocks. Catarin didn't fight; she let herself be guided away from the world's final few moments of daylight and towards a road that held promises of more days and nights, more moments and seconds, which would remind her of her little girl.
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Riding a wooden broom, Shayle watched Catarin leave. Her heart went out to the woman, someone she didn't know until that night that Metea's life was traded for one of her own Shadowdancers. The memory still clung to her mind, replaying itself over and over as she tried to understand it. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to understand. And the less she wanted to see. It had been almost a month and a half since that night that Metea gave herself up, a sacrificial lamb, for the life of a man she didn't know. Afterwards, neither the Night Coven nor Glomdoring could find the body. It was as if it had simply disappeared among the shadows, a memory best left forgotten and buried. Buried, Shayle thought to herself. The word rang so true and yet, so distant. The attacks on the Night Coven had come to a halt, suddenly, recently. Though this did little to alleviate the tension found in Faethorn, it did give her more time to contemplate all that had happened in the past. Like a savior, Metea's death had brought a time of peace that was too readily accepted. Her own novices were training diligently to learn the magics and rituals of Mother Night, and Xenthos was only too happy to help where he could. But at what price? Shayle asked herself, watching what the last remnants of the golden armored woman who had lost everything disappear down a stretching road.
"You are troubled, my child," whispered a voice from beside her, luscious and perfumed with trace hints of rose. Viravain stood beside the Queen of the Night, her long black hair swirling about her feet like shadows given life. Shayle had oftentimes found herself marveling at the goddess' beauty, its cold but warm glow and the ethereal grace held in each gesture and emotion. "You are worried about the mortal, Catarin. Why?" Shayle turned her face to look at the goddess, her broom shifting its weight automatically to support the sudden movement. She saw an expression of curiosity on Viravain's face, one that a child would have when first introduced to death, when they're told, "They're just sleeping.".
"She has lost everything, and we gain everything," she replied quietly, her voice alien to her own ears. Months prior, she would have held her emotions in check and said that she was all right, but now; now was a different time. The world was unfamiliar and surreal like a dream that refused to give way to wakefulness. Before she could stop herself, the words poured out in retaliation of her own will. "So much loss. I can almost feel it. It chokes the life from her."
"You have lost many loved ones before, my daughter. Why would the loss of someone you've never known bother you so?" Viravain asked, watching her faithful servant closely with a dangerous inquisitive glint in her black eyes.
"I don't know. I can't explain it myself, my Lady. It confuses me and enrages me, but it does not cease. Since that night that her daughter gave her own life for Druken, I have contemplated why," came the reprieve, but somehow, Shayle knew well enough that it didn't give justice to what truly haunted her.
Nodding her head, Viravain turned her head to stare off towards the sun as its final moments hung on a distant horizon. Shayle didn't notice when the goddess Viravain departed, nor was she surprised when she found herself staring off down a road in the Razine Mountains at midnight. Time didn't bother her in her meditation. It knew better than to break the musings of a woman who had seen far too much but not enough at all.
"Catarin, we should go," came Anisu's voice, careful and quiet. Catarin didn't turn around or make any movements to leave. Instead, she remained where she was, letting the evening breeze pull about her in a game of tag among her golden armor. "Catarin..."
"I heard you, Anisu," she snapped, her temper rising and hissing within her. "If you want to leave, you are more than welcome to. I, however, will remain here until I am good and ready to leave." She felt a wash of startled fright catch Anisu, replaced by an almost indignant anger. She knew her words would strike and cause anger, but at this point, there wasn't more she could really lose. Anisu started to apologize, but Catarin raised a hand. Raziela, give me peace, she prayed to herself, but something within her spoke the words she was too fearful to say. They say the pain gets easier to bear with time. No. It just gets worse. Everywhere she turned, she saw her daughter. Every waking hour, she saw Metea. In every dream and nightmare, she saw her. It almost made life unbearable. Enough of that, she told herself. She's gone. That final truth, even though it was all too true, seemed more like a lie every day. The real truth was that she missed her lesser half; a little girl she had raised and poured herself into.
"It is unnatural, Anisu," she said more to herself than to the person behind her. Anisu blinked at Catarin's back, quirking an eyebrow.
"M'am?" Anisu asked, not understanding where this particular thought had come from. Catarin turned her head to look at the faeling, her golden hair framing her lineful face.
"A parent should never outlive their children. It is unnatural," Catarin replied, her eyes full with the pain that wracked itself against her chest. Anisu nodded slowly, tearing her eyes away from Catarin's. The pain held within was far too much for her to see. She remembered a cheerful Catarin, who would always bark out orders and then make a snide and satirical remark afterwards. This person wasn't Catarin; not the woman she had grown fond of.
Anisu placed a hand on Catarin's nearest shoulder, pushing gently to move the woman away from the cliff and towards a nearby road framed by slumbering rocks. Catarin didn't fight; she let herself be guided away from the world's final few moments of daylight and towards a road that held promises of more days and nights, more moments and seconds, which would remind her of her little girl.
---------------------------------
Riding a wooden broom, Shayle watched Catarin leave. Her heart went out to the woman, someone she didn't know until that night that Metea's life was traded for one of her own Shadowdancers. The memory still clung to her mind, replaying itself over and over as she tried to understand it. The more she thought about it, the less she wanted to understand. And the less she wanted to see. It had been almost a month and a half since that night that Metea gave herself up, a sacrificial lamb, for the life of a man she didn't know. Afterwards, neither the Night Coven nor Glomdoring could find the body. It was as if it had simply disappeared among the shadows, a memory best left forgotten and buried. Buried, Shayle thought to herself. The word rang so true and yet, so distant. The attacks on the Night Coven had come to a halt, suddenly, recently. Though this did little to alleviate the tension found in Faethorn, it did give her more time to contemplate all that had happened in the past. Like a savior, Metea's death had brought a time of peace that was too readily accepted. Her own novices were training diligently to learn the magics and rituals of Mother Night, and Xenthos was only too happy to help where he could. But at what price? Shayle asked herself, watching what the last remnants of the golden armored woman who had lost everything disappear down a stretching road.
"You are troubled, my child," whispered a voice from beside her, luscious and perfumed with trace hints of rose. Viravain stood beside the Queen of the Night, her long black hair swirling about her feet like shadows given life. Shayle had oftentimes found herself marveling at the goddess' beauty, its cold but warm glow and the ethereal grace held in each gesture and emotion. "You are worried about the mortal, Catarin. Why?" Shayle turned her face to look at the goddess, her broom shifting its weight automatically to support the sudden movement. She saw an expression of curiosity on Viravain's face, one that a child would have when first introduced to death, when they're told, "They're just sleeping.".
"She has lost everything, and we gain everything," she replied quietly, her voice alien to her own ears. Months prior, she would have held her emotions in check and said that she was all right, but now; now was a different time. The world was unfamiliar and surreal like a dream that refused to give way to wakefulness. Before she could stop herself, the words poured out in retaliation of her own will. "So much loss. I can almost feel it. It chokes the life from her."
"You have lost many loved ones before, my daughter. Why would the loss of someone you've never known bother you so?" Viravain asked, watching her faithful servant closely with a dangerous inquisitive glint in her black eyes.
"I don't know. I can't explain it myself, my Lady. It confuses me and enrages me, but it does not cease. Since that night that her daughter gave her own life for Druken, I have contemplated why," came the reprieve, but somehow, Shayle knew well enough that it didn't give justice to what truly haunted her.
Nodding her head, Viravain turned her head to stare off towards the sun as its final moments hung on a distant horizon. Shayle didn't notice when the goddess Viravain departed, nor was she surprised when she found herself staring off down a road in the Razine Mountains at midnight. Time didn't bother her in her meditation. It knew better than to break the musings of a woman who had seen far too much but not enough at all.
