writing prompt: So season follows season
"So season follows season,
there is no love, no prayer in vain!
The hardest heart still looks for reason,
the driest earth still waits for rain."
-Garnet Rogers
She waited.
Sometimes she waited patiently and sometimes the ragged screams thrummed inside her throat from the agony of waiting. Her grief boiled within her leadenly as she stood sentry over her charge, still and haggard and silent.
And she waited.
Season after season, through Summer's scorching heat and Autumn's gentle rains, through howling Winter's frozen fury and Spring's verdant awakening, she remained steadfastly by his side.
When the last season had turned and her vigil was nearing its end, she raised her arms in supplication, knowing that Death was unforgiving in following its pre-ordained path, but asking nonetheless.
But finally, her wait was over. And the long-silenced wails ripped from her soul and her keening grief spilled out over the moors and into the warm ears of the living, to warn them. The bean sidhe, the harbinger of Death.
Soon her grief for this small mortal life would wane and her vigil would begin anew.
there is no love, no prayer in vain!
The hardest heart still looks for reason,
the driest earth still waits for rain."
-Garnet Rogers
She waited.
Sometimes she waited patiently and sometimes the ragged screams thrummed inside her throat from the agony of waiting. Her grief boiled within her leadenly as she stood sentry over her charge, still and haggard and silent.
And she waited.
Season after season, through Summer's scorching heat and Autumn's gentle rains, through howling Winter's frozen fury and Spring's verdant awakening, she remained steadfastly by his side.
When the last season had turned and her vigil was nearing its end, she raised her arms in supplication, knowing that Death was unforgiving in following its pre-ordained path, but asking nonetheless.
But finally, her wait was over. And the long-silenced wails ripped from her soul and her keening grief spilled out over the moors and into the warm ears of the living, to warn them. The bean sidhe, the harbinger of Death.
Soon her grief for this small mortal life would wane and her vigil would begin anew.