[ Respond | Andarin: The Mountains ]
Posted by WICKED on March 2, 2009, 7:42 pm The Earth has always been a faithful messenger to Wicked, warning her of danger and heralding good news. She can feel the dim cry of the Earth as it is suffocated by black tar beyond the mountains, by the sea. She can sense that Freya is playing nearby, possibly frolicking with Lycoris’s pup or little Asher or perhaps flirting with Icarus, a chip off the old block. She can feel the spots where the ground has drunk the blood of innocents and not-so-innocents – Kale, Nicodemus, and now Strandwolf. But all the information that has been carried to Wicked by the rocks and the trees and the dirt beneath her feet could not have prepared her for the message she is receiving from it now. All that is wild and wonderful in Andarin sings the welcome of one of their own, one who left them for the desert so long ago. A child has come back, returned to its mother.
129.7.254.33
Ilium, Wicked breathes, and the whole world shatters around her.
She does not know how she manages to find her way to the filly who is not a filly anymore. Her feet trip and stumble the whole way, losing all of their warrior grace in the face of this miracle that she does not know how to cope with. By the time she makes it to the shadow of the mountains, her breath is coming in short gasps and her eyes sting with so many different emotions. Perhaps Ilium will not even recognize her mother now, after all this time. The coat that was once sleek and shiny black and now dull, dirty, and criss-crossed with more scars than before. The eyes that always filled with joy when looking upon Ilium are now darkened with regret, loneliness, and fear. Perhaps at one time in her life she had been beautiful, formidable, something to be proud of, but those days were gone and probably would never come again.
She steps forward slowly, cautiously, not wanting to barge in on the scene that is unfolding before her. It seem unfathomable that her little Ilium, the filly that was frolicking with woodland creatures such a short time ago it seems, is not grooming her own little foals just the way that Wicked groomed her. Oh, the years have flown! This moment is so bittersweet.
The Pagan want to run to her daughter, embrace her and hold her close, demand to be introduced to these boys who will be her grandchildren. Oh, am I really old enough to have grandchildren? It has been so long, though, and she has been so hurt. There is a fear that Ilium will dissolve like a mirage if she steps any closer. Instead, she lingers in the shadows, close to the protection of the trees, and when she speaks her voice cracks with emotion. Ilium…are you real?
The question ends in a strangled sob. The ground shudders. Whether her heart is breaking or mending, I cannot say.
gold
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