It’s not dying I’m afraid of
Well, he is a very good distraction. Too good, actually. Loren is loud, drawing the attention of the banshee that sits at the edge of the riverbank. She is hunched over, and everything feels so very unnatural in the worst possible way. The forest is suddenly too quiet without her singing, as if even the trees are holding their breath.
Weaver continues to creep up on the other side from Loren, getting closer to the banshee and a place to strike from when the birds cry and the banshee screeches. Weaver nearly turns and runs at the sound, her spine crawling. The banshee flings itself at Loren though, and Weaver responds. No longer concerned about being quiet, she lunges forward, closing the distance between her and back of the banshee as quickly as she can. When she thinks she is close enough, she sweeps the blade of the scythe toward the creature, hoping to catch it from behind and end this quickly.
Weaver continues to creep up on the other side from Loren, getting closer to the banshee and a place to strike from when the birds cry and the banshee screeches. Weaver nearly turns and runs at the sound, her spine crawling. The banshee flings itself at Loren though, and Weaver responds. No longer concerned about being quiet, she lunges forward, closing the distance between her and back of the banshee as quickly as she can. When she thinks she is close enough, she sweeps the blade of the scythe toward the creature, hoping to catch it from behind and end this quickly.
weaver
it’s dying without ever having lived
