Γ 24
I dreamed of the graves and the deadcoach; Orpine's rest disturbed yet again by the fantasies of my own. We rode into it, Hyacinth and I side by side. She drove the deadcoach, wrapping the slick, black leather reins around her hands like serpents, while I watched the city. We passed through throngs of people calling my name, their faces upturned. I tried to bless them, but they could not hear my words over their own shouts.
I remembered that it was snowing, and I turned to Hyacinth to ask if she wasn't cold; but she was gone. Teasel's devil sat beside me, grinning-- that wild old man with such horrible wings, long fingers twined through the reins, whipping the horses into a frenzy so they ran. They dove into the crowds, people crying out to me and to Pas as they fell beneath the flashing hooves, sweat and blood flecking the fine dark beasts as they ran. Calde, Calde! they cried as they vanished into the distance, distorted by our speed til there was only the darkness of the grave, the night sky I had never seen before I climbed out into the belly of the Whorl, with the red and white flecks of stars gleaming cruelly, reflected in the devil's dark eyes.
I called upon the Outsider, upon Thelxiepeia, but only Phaea came, mounted on a boar with gleaming tusks, her grim face offering no solace, and Teasel's devil-- Ah... I cannot say. His dark eyes; oh, and I thought of poor Teasel, dying beneath the gammadions I carved into her wall. His dark eyes and his horrible wings, binding my wrists with the reins, creeping like cold Echidna's children across my breast.
We kept forging ahead, the beasts grunting with the effort as they strove to make their way through the ash, screaming as the wild creatures who live in the tunnels beneath the whorl bit at their ankles, rending their flesh, until at last they fell, spent and dispirited and the gods devoured them, rising from the ash, bodies twisted in parodies of the stone forms I've knelt beside for most of my life. I turned to ask the devil what it meant.
I woke and said the Pardon over the bodies beside me; over my own, as well. But I could not find all the right words.
I wake and dream; I forget where I am, where I've been. May the Outsider help me.
I cannot... find all the right words, even now.
[ooc: Silk is canonically a very vivid and symbolic dreamer, annnd one can infer that he tells someone about them, since they're in Horn's book. |D s-sorry for the tealdeer! orz]
I remembered that it was snowing, and I turned to Hyacinth to ask if she wasn't cold; but she was gone. Teasel's devil sat beside me, grinning-- that wild old man with such horrible wings, long fingers twined through the reins, whipping the horses into a frenzy so they ran. They dove into the crowds, people crying out to me and to Pas as they fell beneath the flashing hooves, sweat and blood flecking the fine dark beasts as they ran. Calde, Calde! they cried as they vanished into the distance, distorted by our speed til there was only the darkness of the grave, the night sky I had never seen before I climbed out into the belly of the Whorl, with the red and white flecks of stars gleaming cruelly, reflected in the devil's dark eyes.
I called upon the Outsider, upon Thelxiepeia, but only Phaea came, mounted on a boar with gleaming tusks, her grim face offering no solace, and Teasel's devil-- Ah... I cannot say. His dark eyes; oh, and I thought of poor Teasel, dying beneath the gammadions I carved into her wall. His dark eyes and his horrible wings, binding my wrists with the reins, creeping like cold Echidna's children across my breast.
We kept forging ahead, the beasts grunting with the effort as they strove to make their way through the ash, screaming as the wild creatures who live in the tunnels beneath the whorl bit at their ankles, rending their flesh, until at last they fell, spent and dispirited and the gods devoured them, rising from the ash, bodies twisted in parodies of the stone forms I've knelt beside for most of my life. I turned to ask the devil what it meant.
I woke and said the Pardon over the bodies beside me; over my own, as well. But I could not find all the right words.
I wake and dream; I forget where I am, where I've been. May the Outsider help me.
I cannot... find all the right words, even now.
[ooc: Silk is canonically a very vivid and symbolic dreamer, annnd one can infer that he tells someone about them, since they're in Horn's book. |D s-sorry for the tealdeer! orz]