emotions and shaking his head, fighting against the confusion of thoughts at war with one another.
Breathing deeply, he resolved to keep a cautious account of himself and a careful eye on the genasi and the half-elf. He made his pack ready for travel and waited patiently for the return of Vaasurri. It was a long time before he realized he hadn’t yet honestly thought about turning back to the Spur. Though the late evening breeze was not overly cool, he shivered anyway.
********
Ghaelya had lain down, staring up at the stars, dreading sleep and the dream almost as much she looked forward to it. Her eyes had grown heavy several times, but to no
effect. The stars still remained before her, wheeling slowly in their endless circles.
Uthalion stood watch nearby, his blank eyes turning slowly from north to south in the moonlight. Turning over, she stared into the tall grass on her right, a newly made campfire warming her back. She wondered for a moment why Uthalion had changed his mind about keeping a cold camp. But the fire’s warmth soothed her aching muscles and made the thought of eventual slumber a bit more attainable.
The grass swayed in the evening breeze, disturbing tiny beetles that had gathered upon it. They crawled and massed together in frenzied clumps, the imperative of spring summoning them one to another. The buzz of floundering wings filled her ears, seeping in and gathering behind her tired eyes. Scrambling oh the ground, some of the insects rolled onto their backs, frantic struggles weakening as the singular missions of their brief lives were performed. Competition expended the last of what energy reserves they had, and they slowly died, small and unnoticed in the deep grass until morning brought birds to find them and carry them home.
Looking past the beetles, deeper in the fire-born shadows of the grass, Ghaelya watched a glimmer appear and grow closer. Two pinpoints of dancing flame spied upon her from their hiding place as the familiar whisper of a song began to form in the buzz of dying beetles. Alarmed, she tried to sit up, but found herself paralyzed, rooted to the ground. She tried to speak, but her voice was nothing but a dry hiss as the grass shifted and parted for the hidden watcher.
Long slender fingers pushed gently past the beetles, and they scurried away from the contact, climbing higher or flying away to settle elsewhere. The hands were pale and well formed. They parted the grass as the flickering
pinpoints neared, half revealing a face in the firelight. The scent of her sisteralways a soft fragrance of lavender found her, and she tried to cry out, to reach for Tessaeril. But she could only watch.
The flames in Tessaeril’s eyes grew, consuming the familiar, crimson-tinted hazel that had differentiated her from her twin. The fire reflected in those eyes looked upon Ghaelya as well, a burning guilt from which she could not escape.
The pale hands pushed more grass and beetles aside, revealing the image of a small farmhouse, an illusion formed of twigs and dead grass, dirt and errant bugs. She could see inside the tiny windows, past the outstretched wing of a dying beetle, and saw movement, shadows on the walls in tiny candlelight. A half-ruined windmill stood nearby, torn fabric glistening as a patchwork of beetle wings stretched on sharp little legs.
The hands swiftly withdrew, and the farmhouse fell apart, dissolving back into the components that had constructed it. The whisper of the song faded, but the face of her sister pushed forward. The burning eyes turned a deep, velvety red. Little petals pushed from between the lids, slowly at first, but then bloomed from her sockets into blood red flowers. They opened wide as if to embrace the night sky, their petals pulsing like muscle tissue. Ghaelya stared into their depths, horror drawing her in to the squirming centers where miniature figures writhed in thick red nectara bloom and its blood.
Tessaeril’s mouth opened, and the
Breathing deeply, he resolved to keep a cautious account of himself and a careful eye on the genasi and the half-elf. He made his pack ready for travel and waited patiently for the return of Vaasurri. It was a long time before he realized he hadn’t yet honestly thought about turning back to the Spur. Though the late evening breeze was not overly cool, he shivered anyway.
********
Ghaelya had lain down, staring up at the stars, dreading sleep and the dream almost as much she looked forward to it. Her eyes had grown heavy several times, but to no
effect. The stars still remained before her, wheeling slowly in their endless circles.
Uthalion stood watch nearby, his blank eyes turning slowly from north to south in the moonlight. Turning over, she stared into the tall grass on her right, a newly made campfire warming her back. She wondered for a moment why Uthalion had changed his mind about keeping a cold camp. But the fire’s warmth soothed her aching muscles and made the thought of eventual slumber a bit more attainable.
The grass swayed in the evening breeze, disturbing tiny beetles that had gathered upon it. They crawled and massed together in frenzied clumps, the imperative of spring summoning them one to another. The buzz of floundering wings filled her ears, seeping in and gathering behind her tired eyes. Scrambling oh the ground, some of the insects rolled onto their backs, frantic struggles weakening as the singular missions of their brief lives were performed. Competition expended the last of what energy reserves they had, and they slowly died, small and unnoticed in the deep grass until morning brought birds to find them and carry them home.
Looking past the beetles, deeper in the fire-born shadows of the grass, Ghaelya watched a glimmer appear and grow closer. Two pinpoints of dancing flame spied upon her from their hiding place as the familiar whisper of a song began to form in the buzz of dying beetles. Alarmed, she tried to sit up, but found herself paralyzed, rooted to the ground. She tried to speak, but her voice was nothing but a dry hiss as the grass shifted and parted for the hidden watcher.
Long slender fingers pushed gently past the beetles, and they scurried away from the contact, climbing higher or flying away to settle elsewhere. The hands were pale and well formed. They parted the grass as the flickering
pinpoints neared, half revealing a face in the firelight. The scent of her sisteralways a soft fragrance of lavender found her, and she tried to cry out, to reach for Tessaeril. But she could only watch.
The flames in Tessaeril’s eyes grew, consuming the familiar, crimson-tinted hazel that had differentiated her from her twin. The fire reflected in those eyes looked upon Ghaelya as well, a burning guilt from which she could not escape.
The pale hands pushed more grass and beetles aside, revealing the image of a small farmhouse, an illusion formed of twigs and dead grass, dirt and errant bugs. She could see inside the tiny windows, past the outstretched wing of a dying beetle, and saw movement, shadows on the walls in tiny candlelight. A half-ruined windmill stood nearby, torn fabric glistening as a patchwork of beetle wings stretched on sharp little legs.
The hands swiftly withdrew, and the farmhouse fell apart, dissolving back into the components that had constructed it. The whisper of the song faded, but the face of her sister pushed forward. The burning eyes turned a deep, velvety red. Little petals pushed from between the lids, slowly at first, but then bloomed from her sockets into blood red flowers. They opened wide as if to embrace the night sky, their petals pulsing like muscle tissue. Ghaelya stared into their depths, horror drawing her in to the squirming centers where miniature figures writhed in thick red nectara bloom and its blood.
Tessaeril’s mouth opened, and the
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