Aerwyna
Member
- Messages
- 1
Stories.
Everyone had a story. And most of the good ones involve one of two things. Explosions, of course, and storms.
On rainy days, Aerwyna always tried to slip away from whatever pod-related task was selected for her. Organizing hunting patrols and the sort happened everyday, and while they were important, it was also important to watch the world around you change.
When the rain hit the water, it was a gentle sort of hit. Nothing like when prey would flee from the Kirven hunting parties, or even when the Others attempted to swim with their boats or by themselves. It wasn't rough or violent, it wasn't a tug of war. A gamble between two possibilities, sink or swim. It simply gave. In return for gifting more substance, the Other's water - the rain- would command theirs to preform magic.
On those rare days, Aerwyna would watch the drops command the water to do things no other Kirven could do. The other's water made their's dance. It made their's sing. It could create colors that Aerwyna was not sure her kind had names for. The elders had other names for the rain's water magic, spoken mostly in whispers. They spoke of the miracles it could preform for Kirven who dared touched it.
Elders say that the rain gives. Give what, changed from story teller to story teller, but usually life. Stronger teeth, longer flukes, faster reflexes. Anything desired. Given freely to both the Kirven, and to Others. That sentiment was not a popular one. 'The rain from storms clear wounds,' a blurry face has once told her, 'they take what needs to be let go, and in turn, ripens the ocean with it's memories.' Some stories where not so bright. Most stories warned about touching the rain. That it would sear the scales off a Kirven. That it would contaminate their inners and turn them into an Other or some other prey. Something to be destroyed and forgotten. Some in the middle say that they wash away all that needs to be gone. Things like pain, sorrow, guilt, want - and worse things yet. Love. Pride.
Aerwyna had once wondered what that would be like. To live Pride-less. She could've imagined a thousand deaths, and none would've compared. She had once wondered what it felt like, to have her memories drip out of her ears and join the ocean. A day she did not fear. She wondered - maybe a bit too curiously - about what being worth labeled as worthless would require. The deeds needed. The price to pay. The bodies. The blood.
Among the shore, bleeding and battered half to death, she wondered no more.
The Kirven would've yelled if she had the strength, or the care. She'd been in and out for days? hours? She wasn't sure she knew. All she knew is that she was above water now. The top of the water carried her towards solidness. And she had gotten more or less stuck there. Caught in squishiness and sea foam. fishing net and water. Kirven and.... She allowed herself to be carried along, caught in the net as it meandered through the ocean's currents.
Words came back slowly, then pain. But her memories never fully came. She wondered, in her half dazed state, if they flowed out of her now. If she was dying. She was much to conscious for death, though. She figured, and almost had the mind to ask Death to come quicker. Take her, while she will still fight.
Eventually, the net found something. That something was land. The Kirven found herself locked in a net, being shoved against the land. A situation she would've found demeaning and unjust, just a day prior. Half heartedly, she glanced around. Sand. Sand and more sand. Something new, but boring. The sky above her was clear. Like the sky she had known with her pod, but still. It unnerved her.
Eventually, time moved on, as it always does, and took the water with it. The Kirven was left on the sand. Beached, she'd heard other Kirven's say. Or well, Kirvens, the monster thought. She was no longer one of them. She was.... floundering for a label, her mind could only offer up 'beached'. Dully, she thought of laughing.
And there she lied, the once Kirven watching the still sky as it changed hue. Her skin prickling and burning, her skeleton contorted in the netting, and fluke in full view.
//written a little late so it might have spelling errors
Everyone had a story. And most of the good ones involve one of two things. Explosions, of course, and storms.
On rainy days, Aerwyna always tried to slip away from whatever pod-related task was selected for her. Organizing hunting patrols and the sort happened everyday, and while they were important, it was also important to watch the world around you change.
When the rain hit the water, it was a gentle sort of hit. Nothing like when prey would flee from the Kirven hunting parties, or even when the Others attempted to swim with their boats or by themselves. It wasn't rough or violent, it wasn't a tug of war. A gamble between two possibilities, sink or swim. It simply gave. In return for gifting more substance, the Other's water - the rain- would command theirs to preform magic.
On those rare days, Aerwyna would watch the drops command the water to do things no other Kirven could do. The other's water made their's dance. It made their's sing. It could create colors that Aerwyna was not sure her kind had names for. The elders had other names for the rain's water magic, spoken mostly in whispers. They spoke of the miracles it could preform for Kirven who dared touched it.
Elders say that the rain gives. Give what, changed from story teller to story teller, but usually life. Stronger teeth, longer flukes, faster reflexes. Anything desired. Given freely to both the Kirven, and to Others. That sentiment was not a popular one. 'The rain from storms clear wounds,' a blurry face has once told her, 'they take what needs to be let go, and in turn, ripens the ocean with it's memories.' Some stories where not so bright. Most stories warned about touching the rain. That it would sear the scales off a Kirven. That it would contaminate their inners and turn them into an Other or some other prey. Something to be destroyed and forgotten. Some in the middle say that they wash away all that needs to be gone. Things like pain, sorrow, guilt, want - and worse things yet. Love. Pride.
Aerwyna had once wondered what that would be like. To live Pride-less. She could've imagined a thousand deaths, and none would've compared. She had once wondered what it felt like, to have her memories drip out of her ears and join the ocean. A day she did not fear. She wondered - maybe a bit too curiously - about what being worth labeled as worthless would require. The deeds needed. The price to pay. The bodies. The blood.
Among the shore, bleeding and battered half to death, she wondered no more.
The Kirven would've yelled if she had the strength, or the care. She'd been in and out for days? hours? She wasn't sure she knew. All she knew is that she was above water now. The top of the water carried her towards solidness. And she had gotten more or less stuck there. Caught in squishiness and sea foam. fishing net and water. Kirven and.... She allowed herself to be carried along, caught in the net as it meandered through the ocean's currents.
Words came back slowly, then pain. But her memories never fully came. She wondered, in her half dazed state, if they flowed out of her now. If she was dying. She was much to conscious for death, though. She figured, and almost had the mind to ask Death to come quicker. Take her, while she will still fight.
Eventually, the net found something. That something was land. The Kirven found herself locked in a net, being shoved against the land. A situation she would've found demeaning and unjust, just a day prior. Half heartedly, she glanced around. Sand. Sand and more sand. Something new, but boring. The sky above her was clear. Like the sky she had known with her pod, but still. It unnerved her.
Eventually, time moved on, as it always does, and took the water with it. The Kirven was left on the sand. Beached, she'd heard other Kirven's say. Or well, Kirvens, the monster thought. She was no longer one of them. She was.... floundering for a label, her mind could only offer up 'beached'. Dully, she thought of laughing.
And there she lied, the once Kirven watching the still sky as it changed hue. Her skin prickling and burning, her skeleton contorted in the netting, and fluke in full view.
//written a little late so it might have spelling errors
