you must burn brighter than ever
The everlasting twilight sprung itself along the air, and only the natural sleep cycles told her it was morning. Pressed between the gulfs of salt and sea, alive and whole and well, striving not to dwell on a thousand other things, the youth shifted across the embankments. She would have drifted silently, become some little ruffian on the tide, had it not been for the tarp behind her, scratching across the sand. Along its threshold was the ghost whale bone, still dirty and dune-laden, but with a few fine touches of the water, she figured it’d polish up quite nicely.
Purpose drove her onward, her gilded eyes catching the lantern light lining the wake, where some parties had long since dispersed. There’d be more garbage and junk to collect from the surf and surface once others upon the beach had awakened, clambered out of their drunken stupor. She could help, later, when her own mission was complete. For now, it was dragging, taking a break, a breath, upon the swell of the earth, and then moving onward, onward, onward, Fangorn quietly bounding behind her.
Finally, she reached the Miana Pool, and she dropped the tarp near the edge, motioning her arms back and forth, content to let the muscles have a rest. Her eyes rested on the idle water itself, and the days of stories, of tales, of luck and fortune, of the L’ma dipping down below, wishing foe wings when it could no longer fly. Eventually, the youth grabbed hold of the bone itself, leaning it into the surface, watching as its brown, tawny surface, with only the slightest white knob, began to alter – a polished surface underneath, just waiting to gleam.
Purpose drove her onward, her gilded eyes catching the lantern light lining the wake, where some parties had long since dispersed. There’d be more garbage and junk to collect from the surf and surface once others upon the beach had awakened, clambered out of their drunken stupor. She could help, later, when her own mission was complete. For now, it was dragging, taking a break, a breath, upon the swell of the earth, and then moving onward, onward, onward, Fangorn quietly bounding behind her.
Finally, she reached the Miana Pool, and she dropped the tarp near the edge, motioning her arms back and forth, content to let the muscles have a rest. Her eyes rested on the idle water itself, and the days of stories, of tales, of luck and fortune, of the L’ma dipping down below, wishing foe wings when it could no longer fly. Eventually, the youth grabbed hold of the bone itself, leaning it into the surface, watching as its brown, tawny surface, with only the slightest white knob, began to alter – a polished surface underneath, just waiting to gleam.
Melita
