Maea
give me shelter, or show me heart
Light bloomed on the horizon. The first dawn after Long Night always felt special, and Maea had saved herself a good seat for this one. A headache turned her head into some ancient kind of drum, throbbing with dull insistence. She sipped slowly from a mug of herbal tea, seated on a low tidal cliff overlooking the eastern sea, thinking of as little as possible while she waited.
It had been a silvery hue at first, like a lighter nuance of black. In time, that had brightened into a pre-dawn blush of color splayed over the sky, and a cool wind had swept in over land. Like a sigh of relief, of grief over those who had not made it, of new beginnings.
Now as she watched, the sea was turning into a liquid gold and the outline of the sun's disc peaked over the horizon, swallowing up the faint speckle of stars in it's ascent. Raising her mug to honor Vi and Safrin, Maea let some of the liquid spill over the rim into her small campfire, including Dygra in her prayers; just to be safe, in case her matron was the jealous type. The liquid hissed and spat against smoldering embers, and the steam that rose smelled pleasantly of potpurri.
"Good morning, world," she mumbled, thinking herself alone with the wind and the sun and her lingering hangover. "Let's make it through another year, shall we?" Never a guarantee, it sometimes required both intent and determination to survive. She had plans for both, but it couldn't hurt to manifest it in speach, right?
It had been a silvery hue at first, like a lighter nuance of black. In time, that had brightened into a pre-dawn blush of color splayed over the sky, and a cool wind had swept in over land. Like a sigh of relief, of grief over those who had not made it, of new beginnings.
Now as she watched, the sea was turning into a liquid gold and the outline of the sun's disc peaked over the horizon, swallowing up the faint speckle of stars in it's ascent. Raising her mug to honor Vi and Safrin, Maea let some of the liquid spill over the rim into her small campfire, including Dygra in her prayers; just to be safe, in case her matron was the jealous type. The liquid hissed and spat against smoldering embers, and the steam that rose smelled pleasantly of potpurri.
"Good morning, world," she mumbled, thinking herself alone with the wind and the sun and her lingering hangover. "Let's make it through another year, shall we?" Never a guarantee, it sometimes required both intent and determination to survive. She had plans for both, but it couldn't hurt to manifest it in speach, right?
watch me fall apart
and I'll be yours to keep
and I'll be yours to keep
