I carried my own ashes to the mountains
Fine was like its own harpoon, its own knife; a display of curt repulse, though he hadn’t meant in that regard. Perhaps it was merely too early to sink into those emotions, or maybe too late. He seemed to move and maneuver through clouds and fog, a labyrinthine conjecture of grieving, mourning, losing, gaining, and cycling back through in a series of trials he hadn’t encountered in the same way. These were new paths, and his old habits of sinking couldn’t, wouldn’t, be fathomed, noted, or useful any longer. He could dig his heels into the earth as much as he wanted, but naught would get better. Acknowledging the portions helped, but otherwise he was damned and due to constantly fumble, stumble, along the wayward plain – the uncertainty, the unknown, and the ghosts haunting over his steps.
So the hound nodded at Chulane’s words, he’d been taking the water when he felt the sickness begin to creep back in, not wanting to be so heavily reliant, but understanding he didn’t have many options left. Not until they completed other tasks. He tilted his head vaguely at the humor, a brief snort flickering through, and then he was listening – something he’d always known how to do. Better sleep, and then not much else – skimming over the surface, neither of them quite willing to reach deep into those pits, depths, and fathoms.
For another time, when everything wasn’t so damned bleak.
The inquiry surprised him while he sat on his haunches, and then the air of a challenge flared within his system. An enticement to demolition and sheer ferocity, force, instead of being plagued by his own demons. The canine didn’t have to be asked twice. We can see. He bit readily into the provocation, the dare, as he so often had before; opportunities of amusement flickering into those readied limbs, pushing off the snow with a leap, and a bound, a long bark persuading the moose to join.
So the hound nodded at Chulane’s words, he’d been taking the water when he felt the sickness begin to creep back in, not wanting to be so heavily reliant, but understanding he didn’t have many options left. Not until they completed other tasks. He tilted his head vaguely at the humor, a brief snort flickering through, and then he was listening – something he’d always known how to do. Better sleep, and then not much else – skimming over the surface, neither of them quite willing to reach deep into those pits, depths, and fathoms.
For another time, when everything wasn’t so damned bleak.
The inquiry surprised him while he sat on his haunches, and then the air of a challenge flared within his system. An enticement to demolition and sheer ferocity, force, instead of being plagued by his own demons. The canine didn’t have to be asked twice. We can see. He bit readily into the provocation, the dare, as he so often had before; opportunities of amusement flickering into those readied limbs, pushing off the snow with a leap, and a bound, a long bark persuading the moose to join.
DEIMOS
