Her name existed in a tongue that is not known or pronounceable today. It was late morning. There was singing in the distance. She rose from her meditation to stand at the temple gates and listen. It was not the sort of song that would be sung in later years—these were days where song was forbidden by the humble younger children of the gods, and as a member of such she had barely the ears to comprehend what she heard. She could not see what was happening in the distance, for the temple rested so close to the heavens that, fragile as she was, a blindfold was necessary to keep from having such light drive her mad. She could hear well enough the baser thrum of clashing swords and beating wings, and so she knew at once that it was a war song, and that it would soon be upon the temple, and that there was not much time. She turned and vanished inside, finding her way through mere memory. She walked to the inner chambers, behind which lay a figure rumpled and ragged. She knelt by his side.
“My traveler,” she said, combing her hand over the places where the bandages were thick, and were his wounds had been grave. They did not ooze. It was a good sign, though his arm had nearly been severed at the joint and was likely not soon to recover. “The Undying, they come.”
“Do they?” creaked the beast in her company. “Do you hear them?”
“Yes. Quicker than the wind and very near.”
The sound of their song echoed now through the vestibule. “I hear them now,” said the beast in her company. His one thin hand slid up her side. “You should bring tribute.”
“They come for you.”
The beast in her company gave pause, his fingers resting at the soft point just under her arm. “Ah. You knew.”
She put her arms around his neck. “You smell of burial soil.” She lifted him. The beast in her company was infinitely larger, but she as a younger child was infinitely more solid than he, and so she was able to sit him up. “You must hide.” She buried her face in the dark of him.
Claws curled over her shoulder. “No,” murmured Zalera. “I will not.”
no subject
“My traveler,” she said, combing her hand over the places where the bandages were thick, and were his wounds had been grave. They did not ooze. It was a good sign, though his arm had nearly been severed at the joint and was likely not soon to recover. “The Undying, they come.”
“Do they?” creaked the beast in her company. “Do you hear them?”
“Yes. Quicker than the wind and very near.”
The sound of their song echoed now through the vestibule. “I hear them now,” said the beast in her company. His one thin hand slid up her side. “You should bring tribute.”
“They come for you.”
The beast in her company gave pause, his fingers resting at the soft point just under her arm. “Ah. You knew.”
She put her arms around his neck. “You smell of burial soil.” She lifted him. The beast in her company was infinitely larger, but she as a younger child was infinitely more solid than he, and so she was able to sit him up. “You must hide.” She buried her face in the dark of him.
Claws curled over her shoulder. “No,” murmured Zalera. “I will not.”
Claws dug in.