[Closed | Story Post] So count your crows and count them well; five's for heaven and six for hell.
When Tempest leaves the castle, it starts to rain. She lets it soak her as she walks - and she walks, this time, rather than just bending the Wood around her, as a courtesy to the one she goes to see. It’s been a long time.
More than a human century, Tempest is almost sure.
When she reaches the Dark Woods, the trees around her seeming to lean in, branches twisting in that weathered way, canopy eating up the sun, she stops. The rain keeps falling. Here, it’s just a distant sound, punctuated by the cymbal-sound of thunder and the flickers of what might be lightning or just something bright-colored moving fast, high up in the trees. Water drips from the leaves, oozes down branches, and adds a smell of mold to the musk and death of the place.
“Mother of Crows,” Tempest says. Her voice carries even though she doesn’t shout. “I know you’re here.”
More than a human century, Tempest is almost sure.
When she reaches the Dark Woods, the trees around her seeming to lean in, branches twisting in that weathered way, canopy eating up the sun, she stops. The rain keeps falling. Here, it’s just a distant sound, punctuated by the cymbal-sound of thunder and the flickers of what might be lightning or just something bright-colored moving fast, high up in the trees. Water drips from the leaves, oozes down branches, and adds a smell of mold to the musk and death of the place.
“Mother of Crows,” Tempest says. Her voice carries even though she doesn’t shout. “I know you’re here.”