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I stood in twilight silence, watching the gold of the sun meet the blue of the night sky. The wind in my hair, I stood, unmoving. I stood, waiting. I could not have moved if I had wanted to.
Two looked down upon me, distant and high. Two stood; one red, one dark, one a whiskey-gravel voice, a smoke-filled authority. The other spoke like the whisper of blowing snow, or November wind in trees. One woman, one man. Far beyond my vantage, but in my hearing, they spoke.
"She has done her task, and she is mine. I love her...give her a little time? That she may enjoy it, for what it is?"
The other voice echoes, as if ringing off glass walls; a sibillant whisper, but as deep as ancient caves.
"Surely you jest, lady. She is MINE - she has been since the moment she drew breath, and will be until the day I call her home. I have given her time - and what I have not given her, YOU have stolen for her."
"It is true that I have taken from you...but out of need for her tasks. She had to complete her path. But do not punish her for my deeds. It is my honour."
"You have stolen from me, that which bears my mark. She chose. She ran with them, answered the horns and the hounds and ran. She was mine. She is marked. Even more so than all others, she was mine. She is mine still.
A sigh, a shuffling like feathers, a stubborn voice.
"Give her time. She has sacrificed in my name. I ask this of you."
"A gift for a gift? I owe you no gifts. You stole."
"It was nescessary. My honour bears it. Do you call my honour to question? ....
We are old friends, old allies. We sleep together, after the fall, until we are roused again...we always answer the call. Let us not fight - for surely I will. I always have.
I have stolen from her, too. Let her have time. I cannot give her that."
"Ah, come the fall...I will Hunt, and you will Harvest, and the world will sleep again. She is mine....she will be mine,
no matter whose or how many marks she bears.
A gift for a gift, then. You will give me..?"
"I give you my child. I give you she who has served me faithfully. When the time is enough, she is yours. I have no claim on her then. Is it not enough I let my beloved go?"
He is thoughtful, the weight of their conversation in my mind, and my heart.
"It is enough. A gift for a gift, then. May she use it well...
Sunlight fades. The sky is bruised, purples and blues traced with faint gilt, and then I awake alone.
Two looked down upon me, distant and high. Two stood; one red, one dark, one a whiskey-gravel voice, a smoke-filled authority. The other spoke like the whisper of blowing snow, or November wind in trees. One woman, one man. Far beyond my vantage, but in my hearing, they spoke.
"She has done her task, and she is mine. I love her...give her a little time? That she may enjoy it, for what it is?"
The other voice echoes, as if ringing off glass walls; a sibillant whisper, but as deep as ancient caves.
"Surely you jest, lady. She is MINE - she has been since the moment she drew breath, and will be until the day I call her home. I have given her time - and what I have not given her, YOU have stolen for her."
"It is true that I have taken from you...but out of need for her tasks. She had to complete her path. But do not punish her for my deeds. It is my honour."
"You have stolen from me, that which bears my mark. She chose. She ran with them, answered the horns and the hounds and ran. She was mine. She is marked. Even more so than all others, she was mine. She is mine still.
A sigh, a shuffling like feathers, a stubborn voice.
"Give her time. She has sacrificed in my name. I ask this of you."
"A gift for a gift? I owe you no gifts. You stole."
"It was nescessary. My honour bears it. Do you call my honour to question? ....
We are old friends, old allies. We sleep together, after the fall, until we are roused again...we always answer the call. Let us not fight - for surely I will. I always have.
I have stolen from her, too. Let her have time. I cannot give her that."
"Ah, come the fall...I will Hunt, and you will Harvest, and the world will sleep again. She is mine....she will be mine,
no matter whose or how many marks she bears.
A gift for a gift, then. You will give me..?"
"I give you my child. I give you she who has served me faithfully. When the time is enough, she is yours. I have no claim on her then. Is it not enough I let my beloved go?"
He is thoughtful, the weight of their conversation in my mind, and my heart.
"It is enough. A gift for a gift, then. May she use it well...
Sunlight fades. The sky is bruised, purples and blues traced with faint gilt, and then I awake alone.
