August 09, 2002
dreamspeak [solo]

[wyrmpit | private chambers]


in the hours before dawn's sun dares climb over the horizon, lean body stretches, draped (slit wrist slash) over the bed, deep within the underground chamber
deep within the pit
dreaming

["That's funny" mused the kinfolk girl, "I never would have known you were a blond......"]

breaths fill lungs with scents that have not existed for years, images a private burlesque behind tightly closed eyes (not again..... please not again) a half-conscious smile finding its way to his lips (indecision of pleasure and terror coaxing expressions from the sleep-driven pool)

["Looks can be decieving." laughed the Gaian boy, reaching to run his fingers through her hair in mimickry of her discovery "Though I think there's little doubt of who's kin you are...." a playful growl, picking free the integrated silver streaks through long mane of flaxen gold..... the caress liquifying his arm around lithe, curved form, drawing it closer to let teeth bound by smile wander the warmth of her neck "...... certainly not mine......."

"Quit teasing...." her laughter filled him, infected his thoughts "Once we return to your camp... it won't matter anymore, will it?" a sound to transfix even the Moon Dancer in his tracks - never before had he heard such free joy

"No...... Aethera will accept and bless you, pure, noble child......" teased the Galliard, still, goading her smile with lyrical words purred against her throat "..... bring you into Gaia's divine presence with a rapture that will never cease its thrum through your bones."

how their skin burned when it touched]

tremors begin the earthen plane, sweat soaking into the blankets beneath (warm, sticky, a growing pool of blood) unconscious fingers reacquanting themselves with the remnant scars mapping the taught plane of his belly

[how her screams fractured his dreams - waking to see her drug from their tent, a hand tipped with knives violating the open door soon extracting him from the haven they believed was theirs]

talons explode (rallying to the battle in his mind) slicing through tender skin, sweat stinging the freshly yawning wounds

["The mule Crest......." it growled, the impossibly angry monster halo'd silver by Luna's full face above, Garouspeak twisted by its rabid Rage "That's like a court moon-calf infatuated with the King's concubine.......and she .is. fit for a King, mule, not something as worthless and twisted as you...... I wonder if she can ever be cleansed of your touch." it's words taunted and stung, only ridicule and contempt fell from the beautiful white wolf's tongue]

Silver Fang.

[light and dark eyes widened as the teenaged boy was drug across the campground, he could see one Chrinos carrying her away, there were two others waiting ahead, weapons wicked as their smiles]

it is then he wakes, scrambling to pull away from the monsters in the dream (the monster in his soul) confusion reigns in the slipslide of hand over seeping (weeping) wounds reopened by the ravages of memory (he knows not of the shift in dregs of sleep)

a day of haphazard consciousness before he untangled his entrails from the thornbush in which they abandoned the broken body, a cruel lesson taught the young metis (a new hatred began growing as the scars healed) the camp believed the Wyrm could only leave such wounds - no Gaian would violate another in such a way

"I know......I should have heeded your call then, Father....."

whispered thickly on silken tongue, fingertips idly tracing the lips of (once again fresh) wounds, it was not the camp Crest of the Horn that called to him that night, but the Father Wyrm himself.....

Posted by asher at August 09, 2002 12:00 AM
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