Maren

As the world had burst into life; into the born chaos that had let its breath blow like a wind of change over the lands... Now, after time had passed —the Gods had gone once more— it was denser with quiet than she could have ever imagined. (Was it like this before?) The rough caress of the blow was now merely a part of history: The history she was obligated to make sure would be remembered. By her... by them— Her silent gaze lay still on the empty horizon where only the sun shone in the summer-sky, although… in her mind there was the projection of the family covering her eyes and filling up the invisible frame of her mind’s eye. It was for them she needed to —for them and whoever came after her; she needed to remember. She needed to know... this and more. And even though she had indeed speculated, puzzled and pondered on... and on... and on, in the end she realized it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter at all.

And just like that the world was left before her eyes, the Throat quiet in its dusty prestige. She watched it for a while in this spot that had lost its shade long ago already, as the Sun had walked its path along the day. She had only stayed put as she had thought more about… things. Inside the frame of her vision lay the line of the horizon, the heightening sun in the middle, while on the left the fires dances and continued to spit out their grey smoke. She watched it all, drifting away on the palms of her own sea of thoughts.

Because still she could not hit the brakes on this everlasting compelling ability to conceive, this ultimate need to simply understand.

So she had taken a few steps back as she had finally been able to wrench her thoughts loose from the self-concern and the pity. Broadening her shrunken mind once again. Of course she was worried, concerned, still… But being just a fragile, worthless thing in this splendid world, there was little for her to rightfully worry about. She had realized this once again as she had watched the fires dance in the mornings that had come and gone.  

Still she did, of course, even while knowing it was useless. The days following the Chaotic Rift-shreddings her muscles had been tense, her mind upset. And in those thoughts there was still confusion, there was still hurt, although she now knew it had been only herself who had slapped herself in the brains —with her own unappreciated idiocy. So even though she would remember and tell onwards the story of this little chunk of history she had been a part of, she would not look back on her sinful questions involving blasphemy, not let them slip her lips once more.  That part of her lay buried somewhere in the depths of the waters, somewhere she would only find it again when it had been reduced to a perhaps more useful kind of dust. One she could feel proud of having circling in her thoughts, instead of the guilt there was now.

But that and these regretful things were slowly moving away from her as days went on and as they faded away she became more relaxed again. Now that more time had passed —now that the recent events were no more than fragments in her memory, history pressed on an intangible timeline — it had quieted down.

She knew stuff and she didn’t knew stuff and, no matter how frustrating that was, perhaps that was okay.

So she let out a serene sigh as she put her hooves on the ground again to stand up, watched the fires from this distance for another while before closing that gap by wandering over to the Sacred place. She felt the heat as she found her place next to the fire, pressing on the already existing warmth of the summer. One that was quite gentle this year. She watched them dance; the flames, hoping to find something in between their fast-paced symphony of curling and stretching, fading and re-emerging, spitting cinders and smoke, for maybe there was something hidden in them this time.