kid

I wait with learned patience, counting the seconds that tick by between my question and her response time (I count at least seven), eyes blinking sloooowly as she finally begins to open her mouth to speak. The information that my curiosity brings (nothing macabre or twisted, just an itching need to know what happened to her predecessor as dying doesn't cover it). Murder— the term was loosely known, an immoral action that presents itself on a platter of great disaster, a cataclysmic event to which a life (or lives) can be lost at the hands of an emotionally driven (or ruthless) individual or individuals. It's nothing pleasant, to say the least.

It is a subject Mother only once spoke of, late in the evening when Sabre slept and my mind wandered— I had found myself questioning the definitions of all the words I'd picked up in my travels, what this meant and what that meant. Mother seemed almost repulsed when I asked her what murder was, if it was something to look forward to or something she to disapprove of. Mother was immediate in her response, cold and a hollow tremor in her voice that I could not place— she looked down upon me and spoke harshly— that never should I consider murder a just thing, that I should never consider taking someone's fate into my own hands. So it's a taboo subject, for the harshness in Mother's voice sent shivers quaking through my entire being and I cannot bring myself to remember that face for fear it will haunt my nightmares (again).

And now I'm baffled (though my face does not show it), because she says a few seasons ago— but she is not a few seasons old, her still developing structure places her at a few years. Do children of gods grow up quickly? Do they stop growing? My lashes batter in thought, gazing out into my blurred realm of contemplation (a messy, poorly blended horizon) as my questions wander. Does this mean she could be as young as I am but have aged so quick I would not know? What a weird idea, one that actually seems repulsive to me Mother, to be included in the same generation as her.

"What kind of balance was she trying to achieve by sacrificing others?" This question follows immediately the sentence that inspires it— why must the moon goddess take away (what I could only assume to be innocent) lives? What was she gaining by breaking families and causing such chaos? This was no way to achieve balance, no way to be a god. It was cruel, unnecessary punishment laid upon the mortals by a divine hand. My stomach knots and teeth clench at the image of Sabre being taken by these murders, made a sacrifice to create balance— how sick.

And so the demi weaves a tale, telling me more about the history of Helovia than Mother has ever even considered.  A puppet for the goddess, Gaucho, is used as a mortal dummy to create calamity among everyone— he is a victim— but unlike the others, he does not die (at least that's what I assume, she doesn't mention whether he survives or perishes). In an act of bravery and defiance the first child of the earth falls at the moon's hands (what a terrible thing). "Was the earth god mad?" How could he not have been— his son fell at the hands of one of his associates (what a cruel joke).

She goes on to talk about the gods and their greatness, making it seem like they were unfathomably fantastic and beings of epic proportion. It was a hard thing to imagine, considering that I'm so young and my mind has yet to imagine these incomprehensible existences— that they were apart of something more than just what they perceived to be. "So you're supposed to be connectors to Helovia and them? An advocate or representative?" I'm trying to take in these words and ideas, to not cast judgement on the moon goddess or the actions of Gaucho or Hototo— but see with an open mind the way the gods live and speak to their followers.

I personally (with earthen magic, controlled by this girl's father) see no reason to pursue these gods, that I've lived months without knowing their existence— proving that I don't need to pray or sacrifice in their names to get the magic they so dutifully shared with the rest of our land, that they did not play a key role in my development until now— so why start here? It may seem selfish or idiotic to cast aside their major roles in Helovia's growth and development, but on a personal level they seemed to do nothing for me. Perhaps my magic was inherited from my creators, and the gods had played no part in granting it.

I don't live in any herd, so maybe that too plays a role in why I haven't learned anything about these gods— why they've been void in my life until now. Mother probably would have kept me from learning about them for as long as she could knowing her— dragging me from any mythical happenings to prevent run ins with deities she probably doesn't have faith in until I'm finally big and strong enough to squirm away from her grip.  

I try to hold in my annoyance, feeling offended that she would think I would cry. The idea of sobbing is a repulsive thought, absolutely not something I would ever do. My eyes run dry from my lack of tears, my willful refusal to submit to Mother's labels— weak— that is what I am not. She may force that name upon me every chance she gets, but I will never bow to it, never consider it my own. I will not fall under her ideals, not give her the satisfaction of being right. "I don't cry, or 'burst into tears'." My voice falls flat and low considering it's still at its squeaky, undeveloped state (where I sound like a chorus of mice every time I open my mouth). My lack of amusement at her willingness to skirt around the subject because she believes I might be sensitive (bullshit) sours my mood, an ear dropping in accordance to her words. Personally, I feel offended that she would even consider me bawling at how mommy and daddy aren't together!

I raise a brow, unamused at the hulking shoulders she shrugs and her confession that she doesn't know what to talk to boys about. "Anything, literally anything." I'm not having any of your gender specific conversations today, no ma'am— I am shoving that pile of shit right back at you if you think I'm going to accept that you're struggling for a topic to discuss with a boy. "It's no different than if you were talking to a girl. It's not like we have to talk about dicks or masculinitybecause I'm a boy." I furrow my brows, looking up at the giantess with disapproval and an unpleasant bitterness in my mouth. Does she think that because I'm a boy, we have to talk about specific things like muscles or strength or protein shakes? Because that's entirely incorrect.

I nod my head along, listening to her talk about accepting my aunt into the Falls, babbling about how she has only seen her a few times since then— she doesn't have all the information I need, but enough. "What's your rank?" She'll probably be something big and fancy because she's living in her father's lands— she's gotta have some privilege, right? "Was she nice?" This is another question, asked as our eyes lock in a battle between molten gold and petal pink— our attempts to see deep into one another intercepting each other (dammit). I needed information, to know whether Nymeria was someone approachable or if I risked losing my head to her (to which she would lose her head to Mother).

"Talk."