Maea
And time it waits for no one
It heals them when you die
It heals them when you die
In the late morning, a drizzle began to fall over the Outer Brambles. Treetops veiled themselves in the haze of low hanging clouds, and from the ground a scent rose of damp and moldering things, juxtaposed against the floral tang of new growth. Among flowering brambles the birds were busy putting the last touches on their nests, while the undergrowth was full of life and signs of movement as rodents and squirrels plundered the last of Frostfall's stored treasures.
A pair of blackbirds kept darting in and out of their nest, scurrying back and forth to sate the needs of chirping hatchlings. They had chosen to build in a different location this year, nestling their young in the lap of a stone statue. Lichen and moss had long since taken hold on the surface, and the visage of a young woman with large horns jutting from her head was all but gone in the verdure. Curled up by the base of a tree with her arms cradling her knees, the figurine had been there for a long time; long enough that the wildlife was no longer startled by the presence of a person in their territory. This one did not move, after all. It was no threat to them.
As the rain persisted, drops of moisture darkened the gray of the stone in runnels and streaks, and from an angle made it look as though the statue was weeping.
A pair of blackbirds kept darting in and out of their nest, scurrying back and forth to sate the needs of chirping hatchlings. They had chosen to build in a different location this year, nestling their young in the lap of a stone statue. Lichen and moss had long since taken hold on the surface, and the visage of a young woman with large horns jutting from her head was all but gone in the verdure. Curled up by the base of a tree with her arms cradling her knees, the figurine had been there for a long time; long enough that the wildlife was no longer startled by the presence of a person in their territory. This one did not move, after all. It was no threat to them.
As the rain persisted, drops of moisture darkened the gray of the stone in runnels and streaks, and from an angle made it look as though the statue was weeping.
And soon you are forgotten
A whisper within a sigh
A whisper within a sigh
