(no subject)
There is nothing like the river, here.
There is no warmth; there is no mist, there are no fireflies to carry the misguided, the forgotten, the wandering souls away. There is no smell of salt in the earth, no warmth of the Carribbean in the little dusking breezes.
She walks with bare feet and skirts whose hems grow ragged against the frosted ground, her steps careful and precise, for though the fire inside is warm and attractive, there is a...call, to this place.
It settles and thrums around her shoulders like warm thread, it sings in her ears like the hum of taut rigging in a wind. It is warm and dancing and addicting and even though she watches the black ship with annoyance, she remains drawn to it.
She hasn't walked out to it yet, though. Pride is as strong a bind as nearly anything else--pride and power figting each other too hard to call.
Pride and love, now. Which might be the stronger of those two?
There is no warmth; there is no mist, there are no fireflies to carry the misguided, the forgotten, the wandering souls away. There is no smell of salt in the earth, no warmth of the Carribbean in the little dusking breezes.
She walks with bare feet and skirts whose hems grow ragged against the frosted ground, her steps careful and precise, for though the fire inside is warm and attractive, there is a...call, to this place.
It settles and thrums around her shoulders like warm thread, it sings in her ears like the hum of taut rigging in a wind. It is warm and dancing and addicting and even though she watches the black ship with annoyance, she remains drawn to it.
She hasn't walked out to it yet, though. Pride is as strong a bind as nearly anything else--pride and power figting each other too hard to call.
Pride and love, now. Which might be the stronger of those two?