Ashe
i find myself here alone on this dusty road
waiting for a sign to point me home
waiting for a sign to point me home
The sun is gone, leaving only the hush of stars sweeping across the darkened horizon. The torches burn low, their flames flickering in the breeze, casting long shadows across the sand. Conversation has died out. Mom—and everyone else—has returned to Mort’s halls.
Theea’s helping tidy up the last of it, hands busy. I have no excuse not to go speak to them.
But I stay still.
I watch the pair of them slip quietly down the beach, their figures growing smaller with each step. My body refuses to move, anchored in place as I close my eyes and let the sound of the waves wash over me. Gods, I want to turn around. I want to glance back and see Mom smiling at me, nodding with that quiet encouragement she always gave. But she’s gone—too far now to reach.
I already wept. Not like before, not the way grief used to drag me under. This one wraps gently around my throat, soft and slow, like an old ache I’ve finally learned to carry.
But now I have her face again, vivid and whole. Her smile is etched behind my eyes, her scent still clinging faintly to my clothes. Her voice—clear and teasing—is still in my ear, urging: just go say hi.
I breathe in deep. Then again. And then, before I can let myself hesitate longer, I shift—my form shrinking in a moment to a hovering sapphire hummingbird. The air hums around me as I dart after them, wings a blur. When I’m close enough, I shift mid-air, and land softly in the sand, boots hitting with a dull thud, knees bent to catch the weight of it.
I think my heart’s still a hummingbird’s—for how fast it’s beating.
“H…Happy anniversary,” I manage, voice unsteady as I straighten. “Ten years is…” I draw in a trembling breath. “It’s been a really long time.”
Theea’s helping tidy up the last of it, hands busy. I have no excuse not to go speak to them.
But I stay still.
I watch the pair of them slip quietly down the beach, their figures growing smaller with each step. My body refuses to move, anchored in place as I close my eyes and let the sound of the waves wash over me. Gods, I want to turn around. I want to glance back and see Mom smiling at me, nodding with that quiet encouragement she always gave. But she’s gone—too far now to reach.
I already wept. Not like before, not the way grief used to drag me under. This one wraps gently around my throat, soft and slow, like an old ache I’ve finally learned to carry.
But now I have her face again, vivid and whole. Her smile is etched behind my eyes, her scent still clinging faintly to my clothes. Her voice—clear and teasing—is still in my ear, urging: just go say hi.
I breathe in deep. Then again. And then, before I can let myself hesitate longer, I shift—my form shrinking in a moment to a hovering sapphire hummingbird. The air hums around me as I dart after them, wings a blur. When I’m close enough, I shift mid-air, and land softly in the sand, boots hitting with a dull thud, knees bent to catch the weight of it.
I think my heart’s still a hummingbird’s—for how fast it’s beating.
“H…Happy anniversary,” I manage, voice unsteady as I straighten. “Ten years is…” I draw in a trembling breath. “It’s been a really long time.”
i'll close my eyes and put my feet to the ground
'cause when i'm lost, i don't want to be found
'cause when i'm lost, i don't want to be found
