I live.
.
Blood dripping from my hands, the blade buried in its neck; it let me live again.
It let me live again.
Standing, looking to the morning sky, aglow in an orange crimson -matching my blood soaked visage.
The last essence of its being passed off into the forever as I watched. The one remaining eye winking out, a dead light surrounded by a useless husk. He saw me, still, as death embraced him.
I live.
Shuddering, the fury of battle over, I sank to my knees and wept.
Hot tears of anguish, pain, relief, desperate and powerful, pouring from my eyes. Tears of joy, of thankfulness, of disbelief.
I live.
Moments passed. Breezes rustled the tall grass around me. The sun rose higher. And still I knealt. Still I wept.
Letting the last bit of this reality come out of me. My salt falling on its carcass. Each drip staining his hide from deep brown to black. Marking him as the wounds never would.
Birdsong in the distance. A rousing note to pull me from my reverie.
To bring me home again.
I live.
Turning away from the dead beast I cast aside my dented blade; no use is it now, for this is done. Walking through the heavy grasses. They grab and pull and cling to me, as though they champion my reward.
Across this long field, I see the trees again. And beyond those I know there will be the path.
My path.
I live.
Blood dripping from my hands, the blade buried in its neck; it let me live again.
It let me live again.
Standing, looking to the morning sky, aglow in an orange crimson -matching my blood soaked visage.
The last essence of its being passed off into the forever as I watched. The one remaining eye winking out, a dead light surrounded by a useless husk. He saw me, still, as death embraced him.
I live.
Shuddering, the fury of battle over, I sank to my knees and wept.
Hot tears of anguish, pain, relief, desperate and powerful, pouring from my eyes. Tears of joy, of thankfulness, of disbelief.
I live.
Moments passed. Breezes rustled the tall grass around me. The sun rose higher. And still I knealt. Still I wept.
Letting the last bit of this reality come out of me. My salt falling on its carcass. Each drip staining his hide from deep brown to black. Marking him as the wounds never would.
Birdsong in the distance. A rousing note to pull me from my reverie.
To bring me home again.
I live.
Turning away from the dead beast I cast aside my dented blade; no use is it now, for this is done. Walking through the heavy grasses. They grab and pull and cling to me, as though they champion my reward.
Across this long field, I see the trees again. And beyond those I know there will be the path.
My path.
I live.