A wide river dominates this section of the forest. Romance is in the air, and wolves of all ages come to search for their mate.
IP: 164.107.153.95
Posted on February 2, 2017 at 02:09:13 PM by Kahlan
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I find myself bored far too often. Choosing to not care about others was supposed to give me freedom to live my life how I wanted, and though I do have that freedom, I find that I am not getting out of life everything that I wanted. I am a wanderer, without any set place to call my home, without any wolves to call friend or family, and I cannot help but think that I have fallen from grace. This all was supposed to make me happy but instead it is just the opposite. I have nothing - no friends, no family, no lover, no home, so what the hell is supposed to make me happy? If I care about nothing, then how am I supposed to be uplifted? It has backfired, this brilliant plan of mine, and I find that I am empty handed. And it is all crumbling down. I walk all day long, from the time the sun first casts its blinding light upon the land until when darkness swallows it whole. I don’t know why - perhaps I am looking for something, anything to light a spark for me, to rekindle within my heart the desire to care. I want to be happy, don’t I? Or have I been hurt enough times now that I instead enjoy this quiet suffering? Am I comfortable enough here that I am silently thwarting my own attempts without knowing it? Alas, I have only questions, and not answers. And the biggest question of all is this - what happens to me when I leave? No, dear stranger, or conscious, or whoever listens to my thoughts - be it Tor or Fenris themselves - not when I leave Blossom Forest. Not when I leave whatever flattened spot of grass I choose to enjoy each night. But when my mind leaves? Why does it leave in the first place? Who controls my body when I am absent, moving it such that when I wake I have no recollecting of the happens around me? It is not even as if I am in a dream, allowing my mind to rest and my muscles to replenish themselves. Instead, when I return to myself I find that I am utterly exhausted and spent, with aching limbs. Often I am out of breath, but never am I hungry. For whatever reason my puppeteer has decided to at least feed me, and for that I am thankful. During the summer, food was scarce and the sun was unbearably hot and I cannot help but be relieved that someone more experienced that I has been able to feed me food and keep me sated. And now - for more relief - I am content with the fall. It is not beautiful as it usually is, but instead it is hauntingly decrepit. There is no color in my world, even though I need it now. I find that I am melding into this place, camoflauged against the dead brown leaves, the dried grass, and the trees. Am I dying? Is that what is wrong with me? Worse even, I find I do not even have enough heart left to give a damn if I am. I only want the answer as to who is playing my strings and moving my body - it is about that only that I care. Perhaps if I can figure that out, if I can replace the lost pieces of the puzzle that I am and put myself back together, I can make the decision and choose a direction at the fork in the road that I am at: return to who I was, in all of my former glory, or continue along this broken path to my doom. Dramatic, aren’t I? I smile at my own amusing satire, but the curving of my lips lingers for only a moment as I trot on, passing bare deciduous trees. I name them silently, unconsciously, my kissers moving quickly as my bright suns flicker from one to the next. Red maple, black birch, canyon live oak, nothofagus, white elm. The diversity is vast, and some trees I cannot name, causing my brow to furrow. Perhaps if Moth had not died, I would have been able to… and then of course there are the plants that I tred upon - each seemingly innocuous, but how many have alternative uses, whether for healing, or poisoning, or merely scenting? Many have multiple uses, dependent on dose, and once upon a time I had guarded and cared for my garden vigilantly. But it was destroyed with the eruption of the volcano. The ash had blackened the sky and the lava had scorched the earth, and nothing had a chance to survive. I shake my head to clear it of such memories, even as they come tramping in, but the emotion behind them is strong. I waver, my bodice trembling and swaying like a thin leaf on the breeze as my vision goes red, throbbing, aching. I gasp as all sight is lost to me and the last memory I have is the thud of myself on the ground, a dull thud sounding in my pinnae. My heart is racing but I am fading into unconsciousness, but there is no sweet release, only the continued confusion as I lose my grip. Right before I leave I hear a voice calling my name. ‘Kahlan!’ I mutter a response as a single tear crawls down my cheek, and let go, the dams breaking as I am bombarded with pain and images. “Henadin…” |
Replies:
- Каждый демон хочет, чтобы его фунт плоти; - By LEV February 22, 2017 at 07:54:08 AM
im just a puzzle missing a few pieces - By Kahlan February 22, 2017 at 03:42:26 PM
Каждый демон хочет, чтобы его фунт плоти; - By LEV March 15, 2017 at 05:59:16 AM
im just a puzzle missing a few pieces - By Kahlan March 17, 2017 at 10:13:08 PM
Каждый демон хочет, чтобы его фунт плоти; - By Lev May 26, 2017 at 05:46:14 AM
im just a puzzle missing a few pieces - By Kahlan June 28, 2017 at 05:34:11 PM
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