With every broken bone, I swear I lived
The rain had subsided, but a chill damp lingered in the air that the bleak Leafchange sun could not banish. Feeling the light like a ghostly touch upon her cheek, Maea drew the cloak tighter around herself and leaned into the incline, the once well traveled road a mere suggestion as it wound up the hill. The hem of her gown slapped around her ankles, sodden with damp. It didn't feel any different, but then again neither did she. How many times had she walked this path? How many years had she lived? The answers blurred together, indistinct as the mist-veiled line of trees of the old orchard crowning the hillside. What was once open pasture had all but been reclaimed by brush over the years. In the center of the foundation of a derelict house a sapling had taken root, tall enough for the top to poke through rotting rafters long since stripped of their roofing. The sight had her sighing, once she paused to rest on the front yard, half out of exasperation and half in amusement at the irony; in its blazing autumn plumage, the tree gave the illusion of the building being on fire.
Not a bad idea, honestly.
As she gazed slowly around the ruins of her childhood home, Maea gradually came to terms with the fact that this was no longer her home. Though she knew the shape of the rolling hills like the back of her hand and still believed she could find her way around with both eyes closed, what she saw was a rotting corpse of the dream she'd long since had to wake from. This moldering ruin had nothing to do with the vision she saw when closing her eyes; she carried that place with her wherever she went. And to confirm this, to finally lay to rest what would never again be, she went one final time around the farm. Stepped through the house and all the rooms, stopped in the bedroom that had been hers - a shelter, a cage - and pocketed a shard of broken glass from the window where once she would gaze out at a world she'd felt apart from. A mere spectator to love and life and the growth it forced in those around her. Well, now she was out there, too. Away from here, just like she had always wanted. This would be the last time she came back.
Small trinkets filled the pockets of the long coat as she drifted from room to room. A rusty nail, a rotted child's toy forgotten in a corner, seed pods from the garden and more broken glass. Tokens, trophies, symbols that solidified this decision in her heart; it was time to move on. Time to hold a funeral for the past and look ahead, to the new life she would make for herself. She had a place, now. A new family. Somewhere to belong ans someone to belong to - everything she'd ever really wanted.
An echo of old grief overcame her where the markers over her family sat, near the entrance to the orchard. Simple stones stacked atop one another was all there was to it; their bones did not rest here. Nothing of their remains had ever been found; but Maea knelt in the tall grass and dug the tokens from the house into the earth beneath the stones all the same. Just like the memory of the house as it once was, she carried their faces in her heart. Their blood was her blood, their bones were hers, and if she wanted to hear the their voices, all she had to do was speak into the wind and listen to the echo. As her tears salted the earth, something within her eased, releasing them, and herself, from the guilt of surviving them. Not for the last time, perhaps; dome things had to be let go of many times, and again when a new road was to be taken.
Wiping red rimmed eyes, as her gaze fell upon the apple grove, a determination came over her. There was one part of her past she was not willing to part with. Rising to her feet, she wandered in among the trees, hands outstretched to graze fingertips over the rough bark. Fallen apples rolled away from her feet, filling the air with a heady scent of overripe fruit, rot and rich soil so black with life it would have made her grandfather weep with joy to see. Her father too. It filled her heart, too, knowing that the land was recovering. Slowly, perhaps, one decada at a time, but steady as the passing of time mended the scars of the past. Picking a fruit still clinging from its branch and biting into it, a taste of home exploded upon her tongue. Slowly, with intention, Maea picked more of them; green apples, red apples, yellow and striped and apples so pale as to be nearly translucent. She would save the seeds and plant them in the Greatwood. Would dig up saplings growing from her birthplace's soil, and watch them grow in a new land. It felt right, felt necessary, felt fun; if a scent of apples and the potential for sugared apple pies was all she brought in her trousseau then she still considered herself wealthy.
With her pockets full of fruit and a bundle of saplings carefully wrapped into a piece of waxed cloth, she lingered among memories and discarded dreams until the wind picked up once more. Bowing one final time in the direction of the house that had been in her family's possession for three centuries, she rose with a spark of flame dancing upon her palm, and a fiercely affectionate, indescribable pride blazing in her chest.
"May you burn brightly," she prayed, and let the fire spread. Hissing along the threshold. Roaring up the walls, the rafters, catching in the few dry spots only to spread once the heat drove away any moisture. The keening, whistling sounds echoed against the rolling hills, but the column of smoke rose clear into the sky. Clean, like all the shadows had long since been cleansed from this place - and now, finally, from her heart as well.
Staying until she was sure that the fire wouldn't spread, eventually Maea turned her back to the blaze and began the long trek down the hill. Her shadow threw itself long and pale ahead of her, as if urging her to keep up; with a smile she took up the challenge, and started to run. Back home, to the forest in which she had chosen to belong.
[FIN]
Not a bad idea, honestly.
As she gazed slowly around the ruins of her childhood home, Maea gradually came to terms with the fact that this was no longer her home. Though she knew the shape of the rolling hills like the back of her hand and still believed she could find her way around with both eyes closed, what she saw was a rotting corpse of the dream she'd long since had to wake from. This moldering ruin had nothing to do with the vision she saw when closing her eyes; she carried that place with her wherever she went. And to confirm this, to finally lay to rest what would never again be, she went one final time around the farm. Stepped through the house and all the rooms, stopped in the bedroom that had been hers - a shelter, a cage - and pocketed a shard of broken glass from the window where once she would gaze out at a world she'd felt apart from. A mere spectator to love and life and the growth it forced in those around her. Well, now she was out there, too. Away from here, just like she had always wanted. This would be the last time she came back.
Small trinkets filled the pockets of the long coat as she drifted from room to room. A rusty nail, a rotted child's toy forgotten in a corner, seed pods from the garden and more broken glass. Tokens, trophies, symbols that solidified this decision in her heart; it was time to move on. Time to hold a funeral for the past and look ahead, to the new life she would make for herself. She had a place, now. A new family. Somewhere to belong ans someone to belong to - everything she'd ever really wanted.
An echo of old grief overcame her where the markers over her family sat, near the entrance to the orchard. Simple stones stacked atop one another was all there was to it; their bones did not rest here. Nothing of their remains had ever been found; but Maea knelt in the tall grass and dug the tokens from the house into the earth beneath the stones all the same. Just like the memory of the house as it once was, she carried their faces in her heart. Their blood was her blood, their bones were hers, and if she wanted to hear the their voices, all she had to do was speak into the wind and listen to the echo. As her tears salted the earth, something within her eased, releasing them, and herself, from the guilt of surviving them. Not for the last time, perhaps; dome things had to be let go of many times, and again when a new road was to be taken.
Wiping red rimmed eyes, as her gaze fell upon the apple grove, a determination came over her. There was one part of her past she was not willing to part with. Rising to her feet, she wandered in among the trees, hands outstretched to graze fingertips over the rough bark. Fallen apples rolled away from her feet, filling the air with a heady scent of overripe fruit, rot and rich soil so black with life it would have made her grandfather weep with joy to see. Her father too. It filled her heart, too, knowing that the land was recovering. Slowly, perhaps, one decada at a time, but steady as the passing of time mended the scars of the past. Picking a fruit still clinging from its branch and biting into it, a taste of home exploded upon her tongue. Slowly, with intention, Maea picked more of them; green apples, red apples, yellow and striped and apples so pale as to be nearly translucent. She would save the seeds and plant them in the Greatwood. Would dig up saplings growing from her birthplace's soil, and watch them grow in a new land. It felt right, felt necessary, felt fun; if a scent of apples and the potential for sugared apple pies was all she brought in her trousseau then she still considered herself wealthy.
With her pockets full of fruit and a bundle of saplings carefully wrapped into a piece of waxed cloth, she lingered among memories and discarded dreams until the wind picked up once more. Bowing one final time in the direction of the house that had been in her family's possession for three centuries, she rose with a spark of flame dancing upon her palm, and a fiercely affectionate, indescribable pride blazing in her chest.
"May you burn brightly," she prayed, and let the fire spread. Hissing along the threshold. Roaring up the walls, the rafters, catching in the few dry spots only to spread once the heat drove away any moisture. The keening, whistling sounds echoed against the rolling hills, but the column of smoke rose clear into the sky. Clean, like all the shadows had long since been cleansed from this place - and now, finally, from her heart as well.
Staying until she was sure that the fire wouldn't spread, eventually Maea turned her back to the blaze and began the long trek down the hill. Her shadow threw itself long and pale ahead of her, as if urging her to keep up; with a smile she took up the challenge, and started to run. Back home, to the forest in which she had chosen to belong.
[FIN]
maea
