among the living (p)
Mar 12, 2015 18:37:06 GMT -5
Post by spook on Mar 12, 2015 18:37:06 GMT -5
BUT SHE MUST BELIEVE IN SOMETHING
SOMETIMES THAT SOMETHING’S REAL
SOMETIMES THAT SOMETHING’S REAL
She drifted among the leaves and felt apart of them, at once discrete and engulfed, the anonymous point of life moving through the static verdant life thriving all around her. This—this was the reason she descended from her distant throne in the mountains. Trees that thrived so far above the normal reaches of air and life grew like Morrigan—they grew twisted, gnarled, not beautiful but exuding a sort of power, a half sinister sense of survival. She related to them, wandered amongst them with their pointed leaves needling her sides, allowed them to prick her paws until they bled.
But they did not breathe this sense of life that she craved. Because her life could not be only death, only blood—she needed to breathe in and smell the simple serenity that existed in places like this forest, where a relatively purposeless existence could be maintained. In the mountains, every action needed a purpose, and every purpose had to be to remain alive. In winter she had grown spare, ribs showing even when she breathed out, hip bones sliding smoothly along beneath her white fur. And now, she’d determined, she would venture to the forest with its ample game and flat ground, and she would bring game back to Salome and the others.
She almost glided through the trees, making virtually no sound as she stalked, tail curling elegantly in her wake. It made her salivate, the thought of running down a deer, a fox—the rabbits they’d found during winter had been half-starved themselves, and offered little in the way of a chase. But to kill a healthy animal—the thought made her come alive. Morrigan never had any kind of appetite—she ate only to sustain herself, not because she enjoyed it or felt that she needed to. The thought of the chase itself made her wild, her elastic stride lengthening as she swept her avid orange-gold eyes among the trees.
Nothing, yet. She reached a clearing and stood for a moment, lifting her muzzle to sniff at the air. All she smelled was another dog—and at that she stilled, a veil of calm descending upon her at the thought of company.
Scotia