Summer 65, 512 AV Each hand bore a weight. Cold, dark, lined with the sharpened edge of metal. Bloody, dripping. But instead of a red rain, there were tears of the sky. Unblinking gaze releasing droplet after droplet of moisture onto the earth. Once parched, crackling as vegetation came uprooted; now sinking beneath masses recently found. Indentations funneled rivers into the line of trees, beneath gnarled beds of root. Into small valleys cast by the cascading undulations of the world, forming lakes that could drown even the mightiest of ants. Force even the weakest of flowers further into their wilt. Their hung heads. Leaves furled, their veins cringing as they were forced to absorb all the more, as even the air itself remained dense with all that fell. Moisture being poured away, drizzled onto the diamond backed casing of younger trees, the peeling bark of the occasional birch, crunching like potato chips within the confines of a hungry mouth. Cotton fabric, long grown nearly sheer with the excess, drizzled clear orbs onto paling skin. Clung so heavily to the flesh, that no sense of form was left to the imagination. A single bow, hiked onto the shoulder, jostled the girl's knee as her fists tightened around the hilt of her daggers. The black slipping through her fingers from time to time, as though her hands were slick with sweat. Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering as her boots sank into the mud, producing an unpleasant squishing sound, Aello forced herself to continue on. Her long, dark hair, kept out of ribbons today, swirling around her neck, like an angry tangle of webs. Frayed edges splaying across her lips; pale as bleached peonies from the cold. They tickled her numbing form, as goose flesh rose upon skin marred by the cuts cast by branches she failed to push rightfully aside. With eyes dark as chocolate, she looked from narrowed slits, trying to block out the rain. Wretched weather, making this bloody work impossible, she thought, as she raised her arm and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, forcing some of the straying strands away. The occasional droplet, which flicked uselessly to the floor. How the petch is a woman supposed to make a living when she has this nonsense to deal with? the aurist asked herself as she trampled a few brambles, too slick with the recent weather to remain. Thus, forcing them into their silent graves, beneath a wave of sodden earth. And besides which, how is she to get back from a day bound to prove useless when the drivers are bound to remain in the city, where it never does? Where the waters are always quelled by the hands of their filthy god? The girl shook her head lightly as her gaze darted up to the sky. Darkened by clods of ominous looking, fluffy, dark grey clouds. Oh petch it, Aello thought. This shyke doesn't look like it will be ending any time soon. So what is the use in complaining, if even, only to one's self? Best keep diving deeper, perhaps then, there will be found something to hide behind. |