Mildew
She is like a cat in the dark and then
She is the darkness
This time of year was always a quiet time of reflection in the Feverlands. While the endless croaking and humming of the swamp never stopped, the darkness acted like a blanket over the trees, making the entire place just that bit more mysterious and still. Mildew liked to take the chance to refresh, to think on the past seasons and shed any old, unuseful energy.
The tar pits were an annual visit. A lantern on her hip, she deftly stepped around the perimeter of the bubbling black puddles, feet resting expertly on logs and stones as she got to where she wanted to be: a large rock jutting out over the pits that she could sit on, to watch them move. Just before she sat down, Mildew saw a bone rise up from the tar; she took it in her hands, holding it as she sat.
Closing her eyes, she whispered words she knew well, though they were a secret from anyone else, and held out her hands, the bone dangling over the tar. With a final, authoritative word she let it drop, the sucking sound of it falling back into the tar the cue for her to open her eyes and lean back, taking a breath and expelling the years failures and misery.
The tar pits were an annual visit. A lantern on her hip, she deftly stepped around the perimeter of the bubbling black puddles, feet resting expertly on logs and stones as she got to where she wanted to be: a large rock jutting out over the pits that she could sit on, to watch them move. Just before she sat down, Mildew saw a bone rise up from the tar; she took it in her hands, holding it as she sat.
Closing her eyes, she whispered words she knew well, though they were a secret from anyone else, and held out her hands, the bone dangling over the tar. With a final, authoritative word she let it drop, the sucking sound of it falling back into the tar the cue for her to open her eyes and lean back, taking a breath and expelling the years failures and misery.
She rules her life like a fine skylark and when
The sky is starless
