[Yunari] Dreaming
She slept and dreamed as the world shook around her. The herbs she had been given had all been converted into the sleeping potions she'd been practicing, and her workspace upstairs dismantled to make room for Sheshafi and her mate. Food had been prepared and stored away, tents had been repaired, assembled, and re-packed, and all of her and Tashorr's possessions had been placed in the packs they had brought with them. Their raptors were ready to move at a moment's notice, harnesses had been checked and adjusted, and the hunting cat's wounds were nearly healed. But they weren't going to Outland.
Yunari was uncertain, in her odd and drifting state of mind, what foolishness had inspired the tribe to stay. Fire, cackling as he crouched at the side of her bed, told her to blame the lynx she sometimes saw creeping down the stairs and out of the inn. She was well aware that he was present only as a creation of her own mind, though, and paid no heed to the creature as it roamed. The serpent came and went as well, but Fire had little to say on that topic, and the Earth child she sometimes thought she cradled in her arms only turned away and wailed louder, drawing her attention to comfort it. The babe was weak-willed and needy, a far cry from the strong Earth she knew, but there was little else to do but wait. It grew more sickly day by day, shuddering in its fits of coughing, and she longed to fling its stony body from her and escape. She found, though, that so long as she relied on Fire to take the infant when she could no longer bear to look at it, she was able to restrain her fear and loathing.
She had no one else to talk to but Fire, and he was more the sort for jabs and needling comments than for pleasant conversation, so she spoke to herself, asking after her stone child and commenting on the weather and other inane subjects. When those topics were exhausted, she turned to Fire again, asking him of himself. He didn't know, and couldn't tell her, he said. Not much at all. But she caught unease in his tone, and pressed him. Don't you know? he asked her. The world is coming to an end. But he said it in such a sarcastic manner that she had difficulty believing him.
She woke occasionally, moving outside to the waste pit, then stopping at her store of potions before returning to her bed. She ate, or she thought she did, though she could never remember when or what. Sometimes Fire's voice grew distant, fading out, and another spoke, though still with Fire's face and mouth. The voice was familiar, perhaps Tashorr's, but he didn't reply when she spoke and after a time she simply stopped bothering. He spoke to her quietly, of seeds and growing things and green places, and the inn filled with leaves and the sound of birds. It irritated her, as much as anything could through the blanket of calm that surrounded her, and once or twice she mustered up the strength to shoo him away. He always returned, though, as Fire or not-Fire. At least the leaves and plants vanished with him.
She woke one morning, feeling more clear-headed than she had in some time, and wandered out to the fire pit, stumbling a bit on the wet grass before the inn. There were people there, familiar faces she should have recognized, and a great white fluttering bird that hovered lazily over the crowd. She shook her head, blinking, and drifted toward the bubbling pot above the fire, toes brushing against the longer stems of grass as she glided along. The bird came to greet her, raining sunlight from its wings, dazzling her. Her vision filled with light.
When next she awoke, she was in her own bed again. She reached over for the potion vial she had set next to the folded blanket she used as a pillow, and found it empty. She looked around the inn, as if seeing it for the first time. Dirty, dingy, in need of a good scrubbing. Fire and the Earth child were nowhere to be seen.
Yunari was uncertain, in her odd and drifting state of mind, what foolishness had inspired the tribe to stay. Fire, cackling as he crouched at the side of her bed, told her to blame the lynx she sometimes saw creeping down the stairs and out of the inn. She was well aware that he was present only as a creation of her own mind, though, and paid no heed to the creature as it roamed. The serpent came and went as well, but Fire had little to say on that topic, and the Earth child she sometimes thought she cradled in her arms only turned away and wailed louder, drawing her attention to comfort it. The babe was weak-willed and needy, a far cry from the strong Earth she knew, but there was little else to do but wait. It grew more sickly day by day, shuddering in its fits of coughing, and she longed to fling its stony body from her and escape. She found, though, that so long as she relied on Fire to take the infant when she could no longer bear to look at it, she was able to restrain her fear and loathing.
She had no one else to talk to but Fire, and he was more the sort for jabs and needling comments than for pleasant conversation, so she spoke to herself, asking after her stone child and commenting on the weather and other inane subjects. When those topics were exhausted, she turned to Fire again, asking him of himself. He didn't know, and couldn't tell her, he said. Not much at all. But she caught unease in his tone, and pressed him. Don't you know? he asked her. The world is coming to an end. But he said it in such a sarcastic manner that she had difficulty believing him.
She woke occasionally, moving outside to the waste pit, then stopping at her store of potions before returning to her bed. She ate, or she thought she did, though she could never remember when or what. Sometimes Fire's voice grew distant, fading out, and another spoke, though still with Fire's face and mouth. The voice was familiar, perhaps Tashorr's, but he didn't reply when she spoke and after a time she simply stopped bothering. He spoke to her quietly, of seeds and growing things and green places, and the inn filled with leaves and the sound of birds. It irritated her, as much as anything could through the blanket of calm that surrounded her, and once or twice she mustered up the strength to shoo him away. He always returned, though, as Fire or not-Fire. At least the leaves and plants vanished with him.
She woke one morning, feeling more clear-headed than she had in some time, and wandered out to the fire pit, stumbling a bit on the wet grass before the inn. There were people there, familiar faces she should have recognized, and a great white fluttering bird that hovered lazily over the crowd. She shook her head, blinking, and drifted toward the bubbling pot above the fire, toes brushing against the longer stems of grass as she glided along. The bird came to greet her, raining sunlight from its wings, dazzling her. Her vision filled with light.
When next she awoke, she was in her own bed again. She reached over for the potion vial she had set next to the folded blanket she used as a pillow, and found it empty. She looked around the inn, as if seeing it for the first time. Dirty, dingy, in need of a good scrubbing. Fire and the Earth child were nowhere to be seen.