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10-16-2016, 06:44 PM
n o e
The night grows darker, the clearing still. Noe continues to softly hum, her audience of trees rustling appreciatively as an autumn zephyr brushes through their leaves. From beneath her blanket of summoned fog she watches the slow procession of twinkling stars, each pinprick of gas a distant promise, a faithful spirit brought high by her Gods. Once she thought she might be destined for such a fate. The undisputed favorite, the blessed child, the Voice of the Sky- how far has she fallen, from that moment to this?
A single star glows hot and bright. Noe squints at the burning mass, detached curiosity breaking through her fog; the song dies on her pursing lips, and she is left to wonder. It is falling, she realizes, a spirit cast out of the winking sky- and it is hurtling straight toward her. Its descent is marked, its trajectory clear. Is this her doom, come down at last? Have her Gods decided to strike her where she lies, burn away sins she has committed in a storm of fire and gas? The rain girl wonders, but is not afraid. She deserves this doom, she is certain of that; if her gods should will it, than so shall it be. For seconds she waits as the comet descends, her heart, for the first time in days, at peace. For a moment there is silence, a precipice of uncertainty stretching, razor-thin, between Noe and the world. She is no longer here - she is hovering, indistinct, above the ground; she is bright and incorporeal, watching a million scenarios play out. She can see it, the starfire, the vengeance, the wrath of her gods brought to life. She can see the onset of Death; she shivers with anticipation of that writhing figure, that shapeless mass which her people both revere and fear.
It does not come.
Instead there is a burst of light, one which breaks through her heavy lids and leaves faint umbras as her eyes fly open. She is back on the ground, in the world- she is real. Noe springs to her hooves, galvanized by the star's descent, suddenly alive in the absent of Death. She is rising even as the stranger falls; a blink of surprise meets the ivory creature's inelegant descent. "Oh-" exclaims Noe, momentarily bemused, her painted body retracting into a collection of angle and muscle and knots. Is this an angel, a wraith, or a star brought to life? But no, it is none of those things, and the rain girl begins the slow business of relaxing, caution still etched into the ridges of her frame. The stranger - Erthë - breathes a hasty apology, as though taking responsibility for the fallen star (Can she do that?), and Noe can only nod that, yes, she is okay, her lips a closed in a fluttering smile, her heart a gentle pat-pat-pat inside her chest.
She shakes her head at Erthë's next question, her long mane dancing across her neck. Helovia is a foreign name, and Noe wonders why her gods have chosen this as her site of pilgrimage, her center for rebirth. Silence falls again; the Voice of Sky and Stars holds her tongue, as taught, but her expression remains pleasant and warm, an invitation for the child to continue.
My gods have spared me, the girl reflects, gratitude making her dizzy as it rushes through her veins. They have spared me, and now they are guiding me down a new road. The message of the meteor is clear: the girl is meant to carry on, but with caution, with devotion, on a starlit path. She has been given an opportunity to remain in the grace of her Gods; should she stray, they will not hesitate to slay her where she stands. A fair trade, she knows, a benevolent gesture indeed.
