[align=center][div style="max-width: 420px; line-height:120%; font-family: arial; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"][ most of this is just backstory only the last two paragraphs actually matter ]
Do not stand at my grave and weep
Inhale. Exhale. Feel the graze of each breath within the structure of lung, the expansion of them before it is rushing forth, heavy the sound drawn about blunted points, dancing upon edges. Life. Death. Impossibility is one without the other to hold it aloft, to give reason for such, dull the sheen of a life that finds itself unable to expire and dreary an existence where only the chilled touch of the dead may find place. She knew all, felt it within a hear that had hammered into the curved expanse of ribs it tale, lengthy it for all too long was her time, years spiralling forth. Inhale. Exhale.
Focus upon only this, feel the pressure build until it is fire, liquid the heat touching upon the sinew and muscle, encasing the bone. Grumble toned next breath, rose from minuscule part of darkly toned lips, huff broken as touch of such annoyance coiled within its depths. Faint the strands of memory, the presence of others about her. Older had they all been but family, drawn together not by the touch of blood contained within the complex network of veins, misplaced idea the blood of another ran deeper then did anything else, but experience. Years had been drawn together, presence grown familiar and comforting yet the heat was there, fire in the roiling depths of stomach and forth it poured within heated words. Amongst them arguments never ending, spiralling forth for confined had been their space, yet gone, taken from them within the wake of tragedy.
I am not there, I do not sleep
Press of tongue, blunt the tip of lengthy muscle, wet the leathery skin of upper lip as it moved. Unconscious each movement, twist and lurch of body all too large yet unexpected it too, small the stature for such creature. Wet and greedy, earth sucked at the press of heavy paws, sought to take from her all yet it held no hope of such, clinging to the length of claws as limbs stretched. Red tied about joint, found where paw touches upon leg. Tight the draw of it, familiar the worn fabric, memory within.
Laughter spilled forth though small had been their home, not enough to contain them three. Family were they no matter their differences, the curl and weight of horn within the mess of curls marking her as different, the scars adorning him and all too large to be fit within the family of the man deemed her father, but a scrap of a man by their side. But happy were they all, enjoyed their work as the ring of hammer upon heated steel arose in a clamour, the scrape of knife upon piece of wood.
“It smells like grandmas.” laughter toned the memory, touched phantom words as her weight rocked the chair. Dark the wood of it, match to the ring adorning her finger as it did his, heavy the tone of lavender upon it.
I am a thousand winds that blow
It should have been her. Yet it had no been, far had she been from the town caught atop spires of rock and earth lurking and broke, homes taken, their own place ruined for they had stood against him. Upon broad neck they rested, fine the leather of the thin necklace and delicate the circles of rose wood, once given with a promise. Sharp the inhale of breath and sudden the parting of lids, the raise of great head. It mattered not how many times she may wish for such, draw forth his memory from before, hear his tales ring within her head, gone was the man she had loved, married all those years ago.
Strange this place, different from all others, thought turned from the depths of memory and instead to surroundings, latching onto it. It had been a week – or may it have been more, time fluid and odd, concept she had deemed unneeded – mindless her wandering. Different from all else, the press of earth beneath her body touched with a heavy moisture, few and far between the clumps of flora for well worn was this place, churned the mud within passage of countless many. Dank the smell of it, rich tones of earth touched with the wetness of it all, yet so too was something rancid, dark the tone for many were caught and died, left to rot within traps.
I am the diamond glints on snow
Unsure was she of this place but better was it to linger, find an area she may rest, recover and gather her bearings. Chance was there it may lead to something, give her some hint of where she might go, find the family she had lost. Shift of weight, heavy the press of axe about the broad expanse of her back, exhale marred with a groan. Difficult the first step, the stretch of limb allowing the ache of pain to grow within, touch about shoulders and hips, work into the length of legs.
Don't ever let your guard down. Familiar the words, growl of it echoing and ricocheting within her head yet all too late was it. Easy was it, the peg staked upon the edge broken beneath the press of her weight, time enough only for unease to register before snare tightened, weight drawn up until she was suspended by a leg. Lucky was she it was nothing more then rope, durable for it held aloft the great weight of a bear no matter her status of one of the smaller, the clamour of Railsplitter as it fell from her back followed closely by a roar. Reaching up she made attempts to cut the rope but short was her aim, flailing limbs not even touching it.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
Do not stand at my grave and weep
Inhale. Exhale. Feel the graze of each breath within the structure of lung, the expansion of them before it is rushing forth, heavy the sound drawn about blunted points, dancing upon edges. Life. Death. Impossibility is one without the other to hold it aloft, to give reason for such, dull the sheen of a life that finds itself unable to expire and dreary an existence where only the chilled touch of the dead may find place. She knew all, felt it within a hear that had hammered into the curved expanse of ribs it tale, lengthy it for all too long was her time, years spiralling forth. Inhale. Exhale.
Focus upon only this, feel the pressure build until it is fire, liquid the heat touching upon the sinew and muscle, encasing the bone. Grumble toned next breath, rose from minuscule part of darkly toned lips, huff broken as touch of such annoyance coiled within its depths. Faint the strands of memory, the presence of others about her. Older had they all been but family, drawn together not by the touch of blood contained within the complex network of veins, misplaced idea the blood of another ran deeper then did anything else, but experience. Years had been drawn together, presence grown familiar and comforting yet the heat was there, fire in the roiling depths of stomach and forth it poured within heated words. Amongst them arguments never ending, spiralling forth for confined had been their space, yet gone, taken from them within the wake of tragedy.
I am not there, I do not sleep
Press of tongue, blunt the tip of lengthy muscle, wet the leathery skin of upper lip as it moved. Unconscious each movement, twist and lurch of body all too large yet unexpected it too, small the stature for such creature. Wet and greedy, earth sucked at the press of heavy paws, sought to take from her all yet it held no hope of such, clinging to the length of claws as limbs stretched. Red tied about joint, found where paw touches upon leg. Tight the draw of it, familiar the worn fabric, memory within.
Laughter spilled forth though small had been their home, not enough to contain them three. Family were they no matter their differences, the curl and weight of horn within the mess of curls marking her as different, the scars adorning him and all too large to be fit within the family of the man deemed her father, but a scrap of a man by their side. But happy were they all, enjoyed their work as the ring of hammer upon heated steel arose in a clamour, the scrape of knife upon piece of wood.
“It smells like grandmas.” laughter toned the memory, touched phantom words as her weight rocked the chair. Dark the wood of it, match to the ring adorning her finger as it did his, heavy the tone of lavender upon it.
I am a thousand winds that blow
It should have been her. Yet it had no been, far had she been from the town caught atop spires of rock and earth lurking and broke, homes taken, their own place ruined for they had stood against him. Upon broad neck they rested, fine the leather of the thin necklace and delicate the circles of rose wood, once given with a promise. Sharp the inhale of breath and sudden the parting of lids, the raise of great head. It mattered not how many times she may wish for such, draw forth his memory from before, hear his tales ring within her head, gone was the man she had loved, married all those years ago.
Strange this place, different from all others, thought turned from the depths of memory and instead to surroundings, latching onto it. It had been a week – or may it have been more, time fluid and odd, concept she had deemed unneeded – mindless her wandering. Different from all else, the press of earth beneath her body touched with a heavy moisture, few and far between the clumps of flora for well worn was this place, churned the mud within passage of countless many. Dank the smell of it, rich tones of earth touched with the wetness of it all, yet so too was something rancid, dark the tone for many were caught and died, left to rot within traps.
I am the diamond glints on snow
Unsure was she of this place but better was it to linger, find an area she may rest, recover and gather her bearings. Chance was there it may lead to something, give her some hint of where she might go, find the family she had lost. Shift of weight, heavy the press of axe about the broad expanse of her back, exhale marred with a groan. Difficult the first step, the stretch of limb allowing the ache of pain to grow within, touch about shoulders and hips, work into the length of legs.
Don't ever let your guard down. Familiar the words, growl of it echoing and ricocheting within her head yet all too late was it. Easy was it, the peg staked upon the edge broken beneath the press of her weight, time enough only for unease to register before snare tightened, weight drawn up until she was suspended by a leg. Lucky was she it was nothing more then rope, durable for it held aloft the great weight of a bear no matter her status of one of the smaller, the clamour of Railsplitter as it fell from her back followed closely by a roar. Reaching up she made attempts to cut the rope but short was her aim, flailing limbs not even touching it.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
![[Image: ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif]](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/463081660515221505/684393717838249984/ezgif-7-f3e523f182d0.gif)
