Khemrys (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
homeless_pard) wrote2014-07-20 09:38 pm
homeless_pard) wrote2014-07-20 09:38 pm
Entry tags:
There is no Never Never Land
No one ever meant to become lost; there was no 'one thing' a child did or some magic verse they whispered. Some were tossed into darkness through events beyond them, some snuck out of bed and fell through the cracks. She? She had been up late in the stillroom making a gift for the ailing Dame Rimia and the door had opened out unto the ruins. She'd been older than some that arrived, and younger than others, and they all came to the ruins.
The ruins were proof that the children hadn't been monsters, once. Once this had been a safe place for them, an abode away from the world they'd left. The tale was in the statuary though; there had been gentle looking adults that now lay broken and smashed. There had been betrayal, and the children were left alone.
Children alone were terrible things with no one to teach them. Them magic that delivered them safe to the remains of the towers did not know the masters and mistresses were gone, it simply kept rescuing foundlings.
She'd learned what her father was when children had laughed at her appearance and judged her 'too old' to be safe; the spear to her shoulder had been a shock that screamed through her. Hers was a gentle upbringing, soft and soothing. Spears, even crudely made, had played no part in her life until the harsh awakening in blood. The herb jar she'd been carrying had been dropped them shattered forever even as her form was lost, mist flowing and churning through her blood until she dropped into fur, fleeing.
Yes, she'd learned what her father was then, even as she learned what she was. She never so much as swiped at the group that scattered before her, pounding forth into the dark, dripping jungle. She hadn't thought to attack, only to run, and then to heal her shoulder.
Heal fully, barring a small scar from the roughness of the spear. That was more than she had ever managed, so far, with the Dames. Perhaps incentive had been the key.
Or terror. She was self aware enough to know how frightened she was.
Who wouldn't be?
She would have counted turns as they did in the abbey, as the days slipped by, but there was little difference in season in the dark, towering jungle. Her home was another ruin, one surrounded by unbroken, high walls that protected a blasted, ruined needle of a tower. Once adults may have used magic to get in and out, now her claws, and then careful hand a foot holds she'd carved over the weeks in case she was not in fur when she needed safety.
Or when she later beat the other tribes to the arrival flare. The next two were twins, older than her, and they taught her how to fish with a spear, just as she taught them how to garden and what to eat to stay healthy.
They'd disappeared a week ago. Children who grew too old...did that.
She did not do well alone, but they hadn't managed to make it to the flare the last several arrivals. A string of ill luck, falls and illness among her friends, yes, they hadn't made it. She was curled on a ledge above the arrival ruins tonight though, just as she had been for a week. The tribes were getting restless, that meant war soon and that meant they'd be looking to snag recruits.
New children.
She hoped to get there first.
The ruins were proof that the children hadn't been monsters, once. Once this had been a safe place for them, an abode away from the world they'd left. The tale was in the statuary though; there had been gentle looking adults that now lay broken and smashed. There had been betrayal, and the children were left alone.
Children alone were terrible things with no one to teach them. Them magic that delivered them safe to the remains of the towers did not know the masters and mistresses were gone, it simply kept rescuing foundlings.
She'd learned what her father was when children had laughed at her appearance and judged her 'too old' to be safe; the spear to her shoulder had been a shock that screamed through her. Hers was a gentle upbringing, soft and soothing. Spears, even crudely made, had played no part in her life until the harsh awakening in blood. The herb jar she'd been carrying had been dropped them shattered forever even as her form was lost, mist flowing and churning through her blood until she dropped into fur, fleeing.
Yes, she'd learned what her father was then, even as she learned what she was. She never so much as swiped at the group that scattered before her, pounding forth into the dark, dripping jungle. She hadn't thought to attack, only to run, and then to heal her shoulder.
Heal fully, barring a small scar from the roughness of the spear. That was more than she had ever managed, so far, with the Dames. Perhaps incentive had been the key.
Or terror. She was self aware enough to know how frightened she was.
Who wouldn't be?
She would have counted turns as they did in the abbey, as the days slipped by, but there was little difference in season in the dark, towering jungle. Her home was another ruin, one surrounded by unbroken, high walls that protected a blasted, ruined needle of a tower. Once adults may have used magic to get in and out, now her claws, and then careful hand a foot holds she'd carved over the weeks in case she was not in fur when she needed safety.
Or when she later beat the other tribes to the arrival flare. The next two were twins, older than her, and they taught her how to fish with a spear, just as she taught them how to garden and what to eat to stay healthy.
They'd disappeared a week ago. Children who grew too old...did that.
She did not do well alone, but they hadn't managed to make it to the flare the last several arrivals. A string of ill luck, falls and illness among her friends, yes, they hadn't made it. She was curled on a ledge above the arrival ruins tonight though, just as she had been for a week. The tribes were getting restless, that meant war soon and that meant they'd be looking to snag recruits.
New children.
She hoped to get there first.