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Heavy feet sink through the swampy earth and drag forward squelching and slipping and digging, uncaring of what may be in their path. The cold does not reach her as it once did. She couldn’t tell you what cold was any longer. The word only conjures threads of silver, a reflection in a dark surface, a warbling voice.
Frayed—Fraying. Twisted—twisting.
“Welcome, little one.”
Her fingers brush over little nubs of the boy’s ears that are still curled tight to his head. Mere minutes after taking his first breath and he’s sleeping soundly.
“He has the father’s hair. How unexpected.”
She looks up at the other.
“Oh, I’m very pleased. I quite liked that about him.”
They turn away to resume their task.
“You will be everything and more.” She whispers.
Cold burns where flesh remains then curls away into the air again. Wind rattles the trees, eyes dart as they catch shadows fluttering and swelling. Lungs fill unevenly with that thin air— jagged something taking up space where there shouldn’t be.
Joints creak when she turns her head slowly to survey the area. The expected flapping wings nowhere to be found.
“Mama!”
The boy greets her as the soft swish of fabric being lifted notifies him of her presence.
“Ah, stay focused.”
He nods and faces the fire in the center of the room. Memorizing the patterns as it flicks and spits unburdened. His stillness—so practiced—in cold contrast. Pride grows in her chest at the sight. Every moment of the last ten years has been spent guiding this boy to discover the wonders of the world—seen and unseen.
Night falls unbeknownst to her, to the trees, to the stones beneath her feet, to anyone who might wonder. She no longer knows anything but this. The sting of ichor on her tongue is sweet like so many fruits, she drowns herself in it clumsily.
She does not want this. She does not want this. It claws into her belly and spreads, making cracks in a body too full of splinters and pools.
“This will take but a minute, I swear this to you. No harm will come to you.”
She holds this boy’s face in her hands as well as she can. He has grown so, nearly out of her reach.
“Look at me.”
He does.
“I promise I’ll do all you know I can.”
“There has never been any doubt in my mind.”
She releases him and sets about her tasks. Deep lines carved into her body, with each breath she draws the spirit from the air into her body. A cry leaps from her lips when the edges of her skin tightens—cloudy, black crystal like druzy quartz creeping up her arms and chest. Tears ooze down her cheeks.
He watches diligently, rib cage tightening over his heart and lungs.
He is afraid for the first time in his life.
She stands perfectly frozen at the face of a tall stone. The grains stretch on forever as do the minutes, until she moves on. Lumbering back over the dead floor of the forest—heaving—twisting—stumbling. Sorrow echoes through the great pillars as broken as they are.
“Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime."