After Maren had watched the Earth's encounter with his daughter, she had turned away, back to her boat. She would return to the Throat for the time being, even though she did not believe that this land would leave them without a fight. And so, since there would surely be one, Maren was going to do something she had not had had the chance for in the other fights: She would go home to get her armor. After that she would come back and wait it out.
And so that was what she did in the next few days as she felt how the silence and a strange kind of calm still prevailed. But it prevailed like a ghost as it pressed its heaviness on the awaiting earth. She wasn’t the only one, as any who was still lingering was aware of the coming danger. The question was when, how. What form would it have, what sacrifices would it take for them to win the battle? She thought about it as she attempted to find the shadiest places to get out of the hot, summer sun before she would end herself while getting fried within her metal armor… and she continued waiting.
Through the veil of mist the Islands lay brightly colored in sunlight, its water blue and shimmering as the reflections of the trees fell onto the glassy surfaces where the sea was still and calm. As she lay, Maren’s neck curved itself in a way so that her wings could just scratch the itchy skin underneath the metal of the armor Cera had crafted for her last summer. A year ago, time went by so quickly. A sudden noise made her head jump up and her ears jerk forward. It was that kind of hectic sound that was filled with the promise of chaos and sorrow no one was waiting for to hear, but yet… Yet something had managed to push them so that they were.
When had the world started to break, really?
She was jumping up to her hooves when the scent of a chemical burning started to jolt into her nose. With quick galloping hoof-beats she hurried to the source, hoping the voices of others and the sounds of action had not reached a deadly turn yet. There, her eyes got locked on what was happening within her frame of vision at that moment. Black tar lay in puddles around the trees and bushes, fires raged; came from everywhere and nowhere and in the middle of it all stood the False God with the form of a tiger. Her muscles had turned to stone as she stood there, but didn’t even really manage to process the fight that was going on; didn’t work her brain, like last time, to figure out what she could do to assist.
No—
Because she felt strangely sorry for herself, sorry for whoever she had talked into protecting their lands. For meanwhile she couldn’t, because she was such a terrible hypocrite. Why, of everything she had expected, why could she, the seer of the Throat, not even expect this.
And thus she merely closed her eyes as her thoughts struggled to gather themselves together from their chaotic state. Whatever the world wanted from her now, she could not do it; whatever the Helovian Gods would want them, the helovians, to protect, she could not do it. How could she fight a pretend-God that had the form of a tiger — for how? How could she know for sure it was not a God from her homeland (It couldn’t be). And yet, because of that simple, wispy thought that perhaps, just perhaps... it was true. She swallowed in the chemical smelling air that had started to mix itself with the mist. However much she was in Helovia now, Maren could not fight. Because, as the past was thrown at her, it did not matter what was now. Just like if it had been a goat— Even if a False God, I cannot fight it if it has the same form as the tiger gods of Deneb. So please don’t let me do it.
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SWP :: Blunt Little Instruments (Part I)
