are the dead really silent?
The caves of the grotto were dark to those who only saw by light. I could see the twists and turns that others had taken, the trails left by those long ceasing to walk. It was a darker comfort that lingered here, quiet voices nearly silent compared to the soft echos of the trickling water. Outside the grotto the wind blew, occasionally howling to gain the attention of those trying to avoid it. I stepped into the shadows, trying to close my eyes and my ears to the sounds of the world around me, if only for an evening.
I stepped deeper into the caves, shaking the snow off my light cream and silver coat. Orange and black eyes glance behind me at the snow falling. An easy sigh, it is nice to be out of the weather, possibly to warm my limbs. Easily, I step through the shadows, my white paws occasionally touching the cold but thawed puddles that stubbornly rebelled against the winter’s chill. I followed paths, both dead and alive to find my way through the darkness. Soon enough, my path leads me to a lady who lay curled by the mouth of a cave. I lift my white mask to her, glancing between the open mouth and the comforting dark.
Knowing how I appear to others, I lower my large body slightly, trying to bring myself a little more to her level. My bursting eyes stare out from a white mask over a light silver and cream body standing against the utter blackness of a deep cave. I am not one of those spirits of the dead that lingered on this side of the veil, but I have often been mistaken for one.
“Greetings. It is cold tonight.” I inch forward, offering her a single wag of my tail in a benign showing of good nature. “It is warmer out of the wind.”
lord; 4 falls; 41in/190lbs; fatelessXheartless; wandering ghost |