To The Grave by soapbox_solo38 (Kidfic Challenge)
Title: To The Grave
Rating: PG-13
Character: Teyla Emmagen
Warnings: Blood, death
Summary: Even in the womb, her people know this sound.
Author's Note: ...well, this did not turn out like I was thinking it would, but since it was written for this challenge and still has to do with "kids"...
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There is a peace in this, a simple acceptance of the reality that lies around her without protest or illusion of control. She dances with the rhythm of the War Drums, body twisting in the cold light so unlike that of the fires that would gleam off her sweat-slicked skin as she circled them, rejoicing in the fierce challenge of life and being alive; those who dance with her are not Athosian, not clan kin and blood, but enemy and steel, to be killed in life as her firelight opponents are with the stinging blows of dull bantos.
Debris crunches under her feet instead of hard ground and stray embers when she spins, reaches out and lays open another throat, but the turn back and the exultation in the remembered heat of the bonfires are the same and sweep over her, calling out the predator lurking in the depths of every soul. Her bantos slide down in time to block another thrust, gliding with an ease that suggests this is a practiced move between partners, not a battle for survival or match with uneven odds, and Teyla would laugh but for the chemical smell that bites at her lungs when she breathes in, deep and steady.
For this brief time, she dances in the thunderous embrace of the War Drums, and does not worry that the unborn life within her will be ended if she stumbles.
-
They find her slumped against a wall, head tilted back and legs tucked underneath her body, bantos held casually in either hand. She gazes up with oddly clear eyes at them as they pick their way through the corpses of her captors, and when they notice that the blood soaking her shredded pants, they don’t know what to say.
Teyla smiles distantly, and the sound of her lone heartbeat pounds in her ears.
Rating: PG-13
Character: Teyla Emmagen
Warnings: Blood, death
Summary: Even in the womb, her people know this sound.
Author's Note: ...well, this did not turn out like I was thinking it would, but since it was written for this challenge and still has to do with "kids"...
Art is long, and time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There is a peace in this, a simple acceptance of the reality that lies around her without protest or illusion of control. She dances with the rhythm of the War Drums, body twisting in the cold light so unlike that of the fires that would gleam off her sweat-slicked skin as she circled them, rejoicing in the fierce challenge of life and being alive; those who dance with her are not Athosian, not clan kin and blood, but enemy and steel, to be killed in life as her firelight opponents are with the stinging blows of dull bantos.
Debris crunches under her feet instead of hard ground and stray embers when she spins, reaches out and lays open another throat, but the turn back and the exultation in the remembered heat of the bonfires are the same and sweep over her, calling out the predator lurking in the depths of every soul. Her bantos slide down in time to block another thrust, gliding with an ease that suggests this is a practiced move between partners, not a battle for survival or match with uneven odds, and Teyla would laugh but for the chemical smell that bites at her lungs when she breathes in, deep and steady.
For this brief time, she dances in the thunderous embrace of the War Drums, and does not worry that the unborn life within her will be ended if she stumbles.
-
They find her slumped against a wall, head tilted back and legs tucked underneath her body, bantos held casually in either hand. She gazes up with oddly clear eyes at them as they pick their way through the corpses of her captors, and when they notice that the blood soaking her shredded pants, they don’t know what to say.
Teyla smiles distantly, and the sound of her lone heartbeat pounds in her ears.