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Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real

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One word after another

Previously: A Memory of Murder

Simply By Being

There was

There was a long

There was a long time where she was only green.

Only in pieces, moving in pieces. Only the leaves between the sky.


Sky and.

Bounding between the leaves.

It was

Sky unbound, limitless in the between spaces.

It was only


It was only the weight of the chain that slowed her down, and in a way, it saved her. The forest of dream did not behave like a place; or rather, did not behave the way she imagined places ought to. It accelerated the traveler within, and brought one's feet to the speed of thought. Leaving memory behind, she might have run and run until she did not know who she was anymore, might have run past breathing and bleeding, might have run past being, past everything. The weight of the chain, and the guard attached. Her beautiful, broken guard.

She knew not who she was, nor the way to anywhere. She only knew she could not stay. But looking down at the ruin she had wrought of her favorite memory, she felt the chain, their only bond, pulse coldly in the palm of her hand. He had served her, saved her twice, and all simply by being. She could not go on bound. But neither could she leave him alone here, alone in the green, forever drifting apart, sinking endlessly.

By her hand, he was married to the earth. After a moment's thought, she gave him the wind as well. She lent him her breath in the forest of dream, and when she was done, his eyes, now fathomless, returned her gaze unblinking.

“I have taken much, and given little,” she whispered breathless, palm cupping the hollow of his still cheek, little finger tracing the ridge of his motionless jaw. “And it seems we were not meant to part.

“Therefore, will you be my Sorrow, to follow me where I go? To dwell in the corners of my eyes, and in the margins of my days for always? For though I cannot bear you whole, I would bear what of you I may.”

At first it was not enough. He gave no answer. She cradled him to her body, alone and unsure as the stars failed one by one. She held him there, as a great cold in her chest grew and spread, like the touch of winter upon a highland lake. It was only when night had flown back towards memory that he finally spoke, and his lips were stained with the life of her heart.

“I will be your Sorrow, and wherever your footprint lands, mine shall follow the moment after. I shall be tallest in the bright of day, and weakest in the dark of night, at the hour from whence you stole me.

“Until you release me, or until the end of all things, I shall watch your back and ward your heart.”

The chain, no longer needed, fell to pieces and hid within the earth. They say an iris grows there now, in the place where Sorrow was born, at dawn in the dreaming forest.

(c) 2006 Ken Barnes.

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What a beautiful and mythic birth of Shadow. It read it aloud, and it had the sound of water on stones over my teeth and tongue. I like it. Thank you.

And the picture almost looks the way I see you. ;) Such pretty colors.

You've the blame for this one. "Murder" was a one-shot originally. Now look -- all over the place. And there's still more to come.

I also have something else cooking which will require your assistance eventually, so stay alert, drifter.

(My favorite part of the pic is the way the cat-pillow in the background turns into simple lines; I wish I could draw like that).

I fully accept that you stole some zygotes the first one spawned in my head, and now both of our brains are infected. I've been watering them. They grow up so fast don't they?

Oooh, what else is blooming? ::hophophop.:: Tell me, tell me Nooo-ooow! ::said with all Zim archness.::

I like the Celtic blanket too. Lines and colors...yum.

Green can be blue, too, it seems. Loverly as always, Ken.

Danke. This one has me by the nose; I'm just following where it leads...

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