#fully a pile of dirt and wood shavings

[faithfulcat111]

Truly blessed that I got to stab something on this fine holiday 😊

[thecocchamchronicle]

Title: Down at the River

Summary: Suggested by @scionsofterredange,Sihtric and Y/N clean up together after a rough battle

Words: 1048

Warnings: descriptions of blood and injuries, nudity

Tags: @valhallasubstitute, @ivertha, @scionsofterredange​ @sihtric

A/N: @Sihtric, I tried to tag you but it wouldn’t let me!

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The chaos of battle had finally ceased and by the grace of the gods, you were not among the dead that littered the battle field. You checked yourself for any severe wounds and found none. The only damage you came upon was a cut that ran across your cheek bone.

   ‘Just another scar to add to my collection.’ you thought.

You ran your fingers over the thin, horizontal wound. There you found tacky blood, that had already began to solidify. Pulling your hand away, you casually wiped the blood onto the side of your trousers. 

Being a battle hardened warrior should have caused you to grow accustomed to blood, but for some reason you had never grown fully comfortable with it. For whatever reason you couldn’t get used to the sensation of blood coating your skin. It was supposed to be on the inside of the body after all. Nevertheless, you tolerated the feeling until you could wash.

The next task was locating your love, Sihtric. You surveyed the field and started to panic when your eyes could not find him. Fear settled in and you began searching for Sihtric’s face among the fallen warriors that scattered the blood soaked earth. 

   “Y/N!” a familiar voice called from across the field. 

You knew it instantly, for it was Sihtric’s. You both broke out into a jog towards one another, dodging the bodies of the dead as you went. Sihtric slammed into you, pulling you into his embrace. He pulled your body close to his and cradled your head against his huffing chest. Sihtric’s presence never failed to sooth you. It was perhaps the place you felt safest in this world. 

His eyes glanced over you and quickly found the cut on your face. 

   “We should get that cleaned up.”

Sihtric knew how you felt about being bloodied up during battle.Therefore, he always made a point to make sure you were able to get cleaned up as soon as possible. Sihtric, himself was splattered with the enemy’s blood. He had speckles of blood caked on his neck and on the shaved part of his scalp.

   “Looks as though you could use a wash too.” you smirked. 

After finding the rest of your cohorts safe and sound, you and Sihtric headed for the river near the army’s camp. The river was unusual in that it ran straight through the forest. During your travels you’d found that most rivers flowed through open fields and streams slithered through dense woods. 

At the river’s edge, you quickly found peace. It was an incredibly beautiful forest. The surrounding woods were lush with bright green vegetation. Ancient trees towered over you and Sihtric, creating a leafy canopy that sheltered you from the blaring midday sun.

Sihtric stood near the bank and silently offered you his hand.

You took his outstretched hand and he pulled you into his embrace once again. Sihtric pecked a soft kiss against your forehead before he started to undress. He wiggled his feet from his tall boots and began to undo the cords of the leather armor around his forearms. You assisted him with the extensive task by removing the lacing at his sides that held his chest plates together. What felt like quite some time later, he was finally free from his battle gear, which he placed in a neat pile on the ground. 

Both of you then repeated the process, while removing your armor. Though Sihtric’s hands were roughly calloused, he was still able to untie the delicate pieces of your armor. He took care to not loose any of your belongs as he helped you remove them.

Armor off, you and Sihtric promptly removed your regular clothing and stood naked before each other. Your husband took your hand once again and led you into the river. The water was clear and surprisingly warm. He pulled you along until the water reached your breast bone. Sihtric dunked himself under the slow moving current, running his hands through his dark curls below the surface. You followed suit and mirrored his actions. The water surrounded your body, lifting the dust and dirt of battle drift down river. You stood, emerging from below and wiped the water dripping down your face. 

Sihtric’s lips curled into an loving smile. He always found you most beautiful this way. Not because you were nude, but rather that he was able to experience your natural beauty. It was the way your hair fell around your face, the way the thin rays of sun shown across your skin. 

You suddenly remembered the cut on your cheek and cupped a handful of water, splashing it against the wound. Luckily it was not a deep gash and therefore did not sting much while you rinsed it. Next, you moved your hair to rest on your collar bone.

   “Will you rinse my back for me?” you asked Sihtric. 

   “Of course.” 

Sihtric ran his large hands over the skin of your back, removing any remaining battle debris. His motions were gentle and soothing. Your husband’s touch never failed to calm you. Sihtric’s hands moved up and down your arms, brushing over the many scars that resided there. He repeated this until he was satisfied with a job well done.

Sihtric finished up his own bathing by scrubbing his face and underarms as you waded back to shore. You let the heat of the day and the slight breeze dry your body before redressing. Clean and clothed, you and Sihtric sat together enjoying the serenity of the woods. He sat up against a thick tree trunk as you laid your head on his chest. Sihtric leaned over to his side, reaching toward a nearby bush. He plucked a small white flower from its branch, tucking the flower behind your ear. 

   “You know, you are a impressive warrior, though I know battle is something you do not care for. I wish to someday give you a life where you do not need to see and feel such things."

You smiled at his optimism. “I’d like that.”

   “We could have a house and a few farm animals of our own. We could live a quiet, enjoyable life.”

   You glanced up at him. “Perhaps someday, but I can enjoy anywhere when you are by my side.”

[buffskierights]

MOUNTAIN MAN JASKIER, KIM, MOUNTAIN JASKIER!!

*banjo starts playing as I walk in wielding an ax and wearing suspenders* did someone say Mountain Man Jaskier? *lodges my ax into the wood of my desk and cracks my knuckles as i sit down at my computer*

Geralt and Jaskier have been arranging to meet up again after the winter every year for the past decade. It’s easier for Geralt to come to Jaskier, though, so before the Witcher departs for Kaer Morhen, Jaskier ensures he has his winter plans lined up so that Geralt knows where to find him come spring. The thing is, Jaskier’s winter lodgings are... unusual, to say the least.

The first few years, Jaskier stayed at courts or with his family, as was expected. But then Geralt was suddenly asked to meet him in Caed Myrkvid, one of the more magical of the forests at the edge of Toussaint. Suspicious of the reasoning, Geralt had convinced Jaskier to tell him the story and he learned that the bard was tricked into competing with a Fae bard after stumbling into a faerie ring. 

He had tied with the bard and the Fae had been willing to acquiesce to the tie, but the Queen was less inclined to let Jaskier go. So she struck a deal with him, that Jaskier would spend his winters in the Fae court in order for him to have his freedom the rest of the year. Jaskier hadn’t seen any other way out of it, no loopholes that he could find, so he’d agreed to the bargain. Geralt was disapproving but sympathetic, the Fae are tricky creatures, and since then he’s been meeting Jaskier at a clearing in Caed Myrkvid in the springs.

This year, the snow thawed early, up in the Blue Mountains. And the Witchers of Kaer Morhen, eager to get back on the Path and out of the keep, had taken full advantage of the early opening of the passes. This meant Geralt would be arriving almost a month earlier than usual to meet with Jaskier, but he hopes it won’t be a problem. 

When he arrives at Caed Myrkvid, he goes to the clearing with the faerie ring that Jaskier uses to enter and exit the Fae Wilds. Geralt firmly holds Roach’s reins, checks that he has enough provisions to last him a week or two in the Wilds, and then steps into the circle. His stomach flips and the world spins until the colors settle and the trees surrounding him are much larger than they were before.

With bark the color of plums and trunks as tall as giants, the gnarled trees reach for the pale, lavender sky. Electric blue leaves reach down to the ground from the bowed limbs of the trees, creating a bizarrely colored combination between a weeping willow and an oak tree. Insects buzz through the faintly glittering flowers that carpet the forest floor and the small toadstools that make up the fairy ring glow blue in the low light of late day.

Geralt stands quietly for a few minutes, shushing Roach when she wickers nervously beside him, until he hears the gentle plucking of lute strings on the playful breeze that pulls at his hair and tousles his clothes. With a deep inhale to confirm the oak and petrichor scents of his bard, he adjusts his grip on Roach’s bridle and follows the sounds of music deeper into the forest. This isn’t his first foray into the Wilds, but repeat visits do nothing to ease how unsettled this world makes him.

He weaves through the trees, following the winding path of the teasing wind that carries the notes of Jaskier’s melodies to him, until he comes to another clearing. This one is larger than the one holding the faerie ring, and there’s a tent pitched between the trees so no widowmakers have a chance to strike its inhabitants in their sleep. There’s also a small fire that’s slowly building and eating at the pile of magenta wood that releases a heady smell instead of the natural acrid scent of smoke. And lounging against a log beside the fire is Jaskier.

The bard is dressed down, his boots set aside and his bare toes buried in the damp earth. His brown trousers are rolled half-way up his calves and his cream colored shirt is partially untucked from the waist of his pants. The collar of his shirt is unlaced, and honestly it looks like the laces that are there look somewhat like thin briars if the tiny scratches that are half-hidden amidst dark chest hair are any indication. His hair is shaggy and he has a beard, which is a novelty for Geralt as he’s never seen Jaskier with more than a few days growth.

Between the plant stains on his shirt and the dirt on his legs, long and unkempt hair and the crown of ivy perched upon his head, Jaskier looks like he belongs right there in the forest. He hasn’t noticed Geralt’s presence yet and he sets his lute aside gently to stretch his arms above his head, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off strong, corded forearms. Oddly enough, Jaskier’s ears look vaguely pointed and his canines sharper than they were before.

“Jaskier,” Geralt greets amicably and the bard jumps in surprise, his head whipping around to look at the Witcher, “Good to see you.”

“I-I-I uh,” Jaskier replies eloquently before floundering about what to say and settling on the obvious, “You’re rather early this year.”

Geralt watches him closely, the bard’s eyes a much more vibrant blue than he remembers them being, “Snow in the passes melted early.” There’s a long pause before Geralt breaks it, “You eat their food while you’re here in the winters.”

Jaskier splutters for a few moments before hanging his head and scuffing the ground with his toe, “I, uh... yes.”

“I can tell.”

Jaskier clears his throat and rubs his hands together nervously, “And is that... okay?”

Geralt looks at the nervous gesture and the way Jaskier is shifting his weight quickly back and forth on the balls of his feet before shrugging, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

The relief that floods Jaskier and sags his shoulders is almost palpable in the air and Jaskier gives Geralt a large, toothy grin, “You know I’m as tall as you,  when I’m in this form.”

“We’ll just have to get me taller boots, then,” Geralt groans as he doles out sixty dollars for betting and gives it to his brothers and sisters to usher them out of the clearing where they had been hiding amidst the shadows that lurk in the corner of their eyes

Jaskier has a fond expression on his face as he reaches over and pulls Geralt into a one-armed hug with a smile, “I guess so.”

He ends up with high heels. At least his calves look half a good as he rushes into town because he doesn’t have an extra set of clothing and the fae all wolf whistle and tease Geralt and Jaskier until the end of his winter contract. Upon when, he’ll shave his face and cut his hair and become fully human again, just for Geralt.

[arcanescholar]

Visitation and Gratitude

Tried my hand at some fic shit.

Characters: Ruby Rose, Yang Xiao Long

Word Count: fuck if I fuckin’ know

Place in timeline: Red Trailerish??? It’s some minor AU shit so you’ll probs figure it out while you read.

Recommended listening after the “... ... ...” break between scenes.

Fuckin’, give me critique or whatever. I got a scene idea in my head after watching some anime or something.

Streaks of red blitz across an empty clearing with speed to match the howling blizzard and hounds that sought to snuff out its life.

It was like a blood-dipped brush pressed against a stark, bleak canvas, carving across the monochromatic landscape with brilliant flashes of color and sound, carrying the carefully channeled violence of an enraged artist in their wake. Flakes of paint flurry and scatter about through the wind like rose petals, as the whirlwind of violence comes to a sudden screeching end of groaning metal barely able to keep up with the strength and speed of its wielder.

Scattered petals drape across the snow as a young girl lands in a low crouch, a massive weapon, too big to be simply called a scythe, too mechanical, too over-engineered to be considered a regular tool of warfare, draped over her shoulders along with a brilliantly red cloak that flutters in the wind. Snow and shell casings alike fall to the ground with an unnatural rhythm, as the petals seem to fade, much like the corpses of her enemies.

She gazes with disdain as cold as the falling snow as they disappear, as if they had never existed in the first place, only the quickly filling gouges in the snow and earth she left behind and the soon-to-be-smothered empty casings and the fast fading boot prints her footfalls left in the snow remaining as evidence that a battle had ever taken place here at all.

           Crunches of snow behind her. She swings the weapon to bear, letting it fold in on itself with sounds of clicking metal and whirring servos as its bladed mass compresses into a long, supremely bulky rifle that she holds at waist level, aiming at her target.

           “Whoa! Jeez! Wait a second, it’s just me! It’s just me!” Cries out a new voice, as its owner raises her hands, brilliant, golden hair blowing in the wind as she flinches in surprise. “You didn’t forget I was here or something did you?!”

           The red-cloaked girl pauses for a moment before letting the weapon continue to compress until it folds together like a compact box that she attaches to a magnetic holster mechanism on her back, turning away from the other girl with a slow breath.

           “Ehe...” She giggles bashfully, rubbing the back of her head through the hood of her cloak. “Sorry about that sis, I just got really into cleanup, y’know?”

           “Ruby...”

           “I know, I know, gotta keep it under control. I don’t wanna fight anymore today if I can help it either, I think I’m almost out of ammo after that last fight...”

           The golden-haired girl lets loose an exasperated sigh, rubbing at her face. She neglected to bring a cloak with her, but her body seemed to radiate a heat all its own, the snow surrounding her singing off with wisps of steam as it falls against her skin.

           “It’s not that, it’s just-”

           “Yang. Really. I’m fine.”

           Ruby looks over her shoulder, her eyes hidden in the shadow of her hood as Yang simply spies a thin smile. It was hard to tell whether it was genuine or not, but... It was the best the older of the two was going to get for the time being. She practically rushes Ruby, swinging her arms around her for a bear hug.

           “Ah come here already! You’re gonna freeze if you don’t stick close to me you know!”

           “Y-yang! Yang that’s too tight! You’ll crush me, really, you’ll crush me! I think something’s creaking…!”

           ... ... ...

In time, the two sisters reached their destination through those dreary woods, their first task complete, standing before a lone grave, covered with snow, barely noticeable in the pile of frost and powder that had tried to leave it buried and forgotten.

           “Ready, Ruby?”

           “Yeah.” The younger sister says, withdrawing her sniper-scythe from its holster once more, racking the slide as her elder companion flicks her wrists, gauntlets extending to cover her hands.

           Yang crouches low to the grave’s right, her eyes closed, legs spread in a wide stance, with her fists clenched and arms crossed at the wrists in front of her waist with her elbows slightly bent.

           Ruby positions her scythe at her shoulder to the grave’s left, both arms fully extended, left hand grasping the bottom half of the scythe with the right holding the top, the shaft sliding down her right arm and pressing against the back of her head, one foot raised off of the ground.

           “This makes...”

           “Almost three years since we first started this huh?”

           The two sisters suck in a slow breath, as if their very lives depended upon their timing being absolutely perfect.

                      A slow, synchronized exhale.

           “I don’t think we’ll be able to do this anymore once I head to Beacon, huh?” Yang muses, keeping her eyes closed.

           “...”

           Another synchronized breath, paired with another exhale.

           “...”

           “...”

           Inhale.

           The world seems to pause. The wind dies as the snowfall ceases.

           Ruby’s raised foot stomps with a hard crunch of snow and frozen grass, as Yang uncrosses her arms, slowly swinging them up in a perfect circle as she presses them together over her head before bringing them down to her chest, clasped together in prayer as her younger sister sweeps her foot exactly 90 degrees to the side.

Both of these motions happen in perfect sync.

           With the sound of air being cut on the edge of a blade, Ruby swings her scythe, shaving it across the snow and collecting it in a perfect pile atop the flat of its blade.

           She collected one inch. One inch of six.

           Simultaneously, Yang unclasps her hands, bringing them down to her waist in a classical Karate stance, legs spread, body low, fists clenched, elbows slightly bent.

           Exhale.

           Their breaths slip out of their mouths with clouds of vapor, as Ruby spins the scythe in her hand, sending a pile of snow tumbling through the air across Yang’s front. Yang raises her fist with a blur of movement, swinging forward with a punch that leaves a burst of air and a sound like a whip cracking in its wake, blowing the glob of snow up and over the buried gravestone with a sound of rushing wind and the harsh report of the shotgun built into her gauntlet going off.

           A blast spat from the barrel of the gun like flame from the maw of a dragon instantly melts the blown away snow, flash boiling it as hot water spatters down, melting some of the snow and ice that had built up over the grave and washing some of the dirt that had accumulated.

           Another inhale, and the girls return to their starting positions, Ruby with her foot raised in the same stance as before, Yang with her arms crossed low in front of her waist.

            Three years ago, a decision was made.

           A stomp of a foot. An uncrossing of arms.

           A show of gratitude.

           A sound of singing steel and scraping snow.

           To the woman that gave birth to one.

           A burst of air and a blast of fire.

           To the woman that stood in as mother for the other.

           ... ... ...

           “Hah... Hah...”

           “Hoo... I think we did it perfectly this time, Yang...”

           “You sure? I think you were still off by a few fractions of a second on that last one. Look! It’s uneven!”

           “Aw not right now! Not in front of mom!”

           “Yeah, yeah, I gotcha, I gotcha...” Yang huffs as she steps up to the grave first. “Well mom, this is it... Gonna be the last time I can visit you like this for a while. Not till I graduate, at least.” Yang starts, rubbing the back of her head.

           The grave stands silently.

           “I hope you don’t get too lonely with just Ruby and Dad here, but... I’ll be back. I don’t think they’ll ever get the kinda timing sis and I got.”

           ...

           “I guess... I just want you to know, even if I’m looking for... her, you’ll always be mom to me, alright? So, don’t get too jealous wherever you are, alright?!”

            ...

A slow breeze brushes over Yang’s hair, ruffling it slightly.

She huffs a bit, running a hand through her hair to straighten it out a bit, but... smiles. Just slightly, her eyes closed, and expression gentle.

“... Thanks. I’ll let Ruby take over now.”

Yang steps away, reaching up and giving Ruby’s shoulder a hard pat, enough to make the poor girl’s knees buckle for a second before she stands up again, folding her scythe behind her back.

She steps up quickly, nervously…

“Hey mom! It’s me. Again. Um. Uncle Qrow says hi. Okay, no, he didn’t, but, I think he was saying hi in spirit!” She says quickly, hands clenched in front of her chest. “Training’s going really well so far, it’s been really, really tough catching up, but... I’m gonna do it. Even if I have to work three times as hard as everyone else, I promise I’ll be strong enough to find him.”

That day stood out in her mind as her strongest memory. The one she latched onto like a house clings to its foundations.

Her father was crying, sunk to his knees with an empty eyed expression. Yang was practically inconsolable curled up on the ground, Qrow stood at the doorway with a flask in hand and the collar of the silver haired man before them in the other, screaming something in a drunken rage the likes of which Ruby had never seen before.

Thin, brown eyes peer over tiny spectacles perched on the nose of a man with a bruise already forming on his cheek, as he seemed to ignore the man that had just slugged him straight in the face, making eye contact, instead, with Ruby, gazing into her innocent, heart broken face, his words too quiet for the young girl to hear over Qrow’s shouting, save for a few words.

“-killed by a man with the eyes of a lion.”

           The funeral was short. There was no body to hold a wake for. Tai Yang wasn’t even present, he was still frantically searching for any sign of his second lost love, as a younger Qrow stands in an uncharacteristically clean suit and tie.

           “... no one else.” Ruby sobs, clutching her sister’s arm with a grip that left bright red welts from the sheer pressure.

           “Ruby...?”

           “- so no one else has to feel like this...!” She hisses inaudibly through the tears, rubbing at her eyes with ungraceful hiccups and wretched sobs.

           Ruby opens her eyes, staring down at the grave before her, kneeling down and brushing her hand over the marble. It was hot, almost scalding to the touch. Any normal person would recoil in pain in an instant.

     Summer Rose.

           Thus kindly, I scatter.

           But to do what she needed to do, she couldn’t be a normal person.

           From that day onward, she turned her back on leading a peaceful life.

           From what day onward, she made a promise.

           From that day onward.

           “... Hey, Ruby? Um, don’t wanna interrupt but…”

           “Hm?”

     “I think Qrow is trying to text you about something? He says he needs you to come by the usual place once we’ve finished up here. Kh, think he’d get a better sense of timing.” Yang huffs, shutting her scroll with an annoyed pout.

           From that day onward...

           “... Sorry mom, but, there’s something I’ve got to take care of. It might be a bit before I get back but... I know you’ll always be watching over me.”

           “Wait, what? Sis, what are you talking about- hey! Hey! Wait up!”

           Ruby rushes away, streaking across the landscape like a rose-tinted brush carried in the hurried fingers of a frantic painter.

           She swore, she would become a Huntress.

[captivesrp]

Not yet asleep, Ffrewgí is suddenly alert at a sound outside his tent. A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead and the dirt beneath his bare back becomes pointed as gravel.

“Can I come in?” comes a soft voice; Anwen’s voice.

Ffrewgí swallows back his heart and props himself up on his elbows. “Yeah,” he says in a cracking voice, “of course!”

Pale in the night, Anwen’s arms follow her tangled hair into the tent and then she is fully inside, curled up by the entrance, her knees up to her chin. Her wide eyes gleam even in the near-blackness of the tent’s interior.

Ffrewgí rubs his eyes and sits up fully. The girl must have just returned from her hunt; it occurs to Ffrewgí that five days have passed since the group’s departure. He breaks the silence. “Anwen?”

Anwen looks up. “Sorry,” she whispers, blinking.

“Are you okay? What---what happened on the hunt?”

Anwen’s eyes are distant. “I can't be in that tent anymore---it's . . . it's where he died, and I can't stop thinking about it.” She shakes herself out of her reverie. “The hunt was fine. I actually . . .” her eyes find Ffrewgí’s, “had a strange thing happen.”

Ffrewgí’s heart hammers with prescient expectation. “What?”

“I think I met the creature.”

The paleness of Anwen’s face reminds Ffrewgí of the glow---all he can remember of his own encounter. “Really?” he asks hollowly. “Did it . . . did it speak to you?”

Anwen looks down and nods. The glow fades. “About Alaric.”

In his mind’s eye, Ffrewgí sees her old hunting group stagger into camp covered in blood. “I’m sorry he died,” he says, wishing he had more to say. “This place is . . .” He trails off.

“Yeah,” Anwen whispers.

Ffrewgí feels the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders, his forehead. The darkness in the tent feels strangely expansive, but full of slow portent; roiling and thick, it fills Ffrewgí’s dreams that night.

*     *     *

Ffrewgí wakes with a jolt in the early morning, hearing movement beside him. Anwen is sitting up, rustling her hair with her fingers. Ffrewgí closes his eyes again, allowing his heart to calm. When he sits up a few moments later, Anwen is crouching by the entrance, looking at him.

“Thank you,” she says, and ducks out. Sharp sunlight slants into the tent for a moment before the flap falls back into place.

Ffrewgí rubs his eyes and yawns before leaving the tent himself. He moves woodenly to his first task, completes it without thought. The sun is high by the time effort and the heat wakes him up properly; he can suddenly feel the scratches on his arms from the loads of wood he has been carrying to the central firepit, the roughness of bark and splinters against his bare arms and chest. He deposits his latest load in the slowly growing pile beneath the small thatched storage and turns to return to the chopping ground.

The boy Ainsley is sitting by the fire, a collection of wood shavings decorating the ground by his feet. He looks up as Ffrewgí turns and their eyes meet. A figure in the corner of his vision draws his attention away; Heulwen is standing between two tents nearby. Her brown eyes ache with the tiredness Ffrewgí feels in his bones. Then Anwen is there, too, with the water yoke, just behind the dark-skinned girl. A breeze stirs her hair.

Suddenly, memories flood Ffrewgí’s consciousness, images one after another slowly resolving into one distinct scene.

He is standing in the woods. He can feel damp loam beneath his feet, the soft air after a rain on his face. Ainsley, Anwen, and Heulwen are standing before him, all empty-handed, eyes focused. Heulwen breathes out slowly; somehow, Ffrewgí can feel it resonate in his chest. Crumbling earth shivers out from beneath the moss and ferns of the forest floor, twists and flows upwards, forms into a crude humanoid form.

Ainsley breathes a trembling breath and his eyes close. Ffrewgí’s own vision distorts, vibrates, and resolves in creeping focus on the figure of earth before him, which takes on the image of Alaric, the captive who had died. Its eyes are flat, lifeless.

A gust of wind stands Ffrewgí’s hairs on end; Anwen breathes out, her own blonde locks stirring about her head. A coiling breeze, carrying with it an incredible electricity, darts into the space between the four children, moving like a lightning bolt dancing with a swimming serpent, and Ffrewgí watches it draw up into the Alaric-figure’s nostrils.

Then Ffrewgí steps forward, places his hand on the figure’s chest. Beneath his palm he feels organs of earth become flesh, threads of dirt turn red with flowing blood; he feels bones resolve from clay, and when he lifts his eyes the blush of life is spreading through living cheeks, and glittering eyes regard him curiously.

Ffrewgí blinks suddenly out of his recollection, is back in the center of the Gwaedwn village in the hot sun. He looks from peer to peer, wondering, and in their eyes he sees his own surprise reflected back.

“Did that,” starts Anwen, “did that really happen?”

“You’re remembering it, too?” asks Ffrewgí, though he knows the answer; he knows that they have all remembered. It does not occur to him to really question it, not that they all have only now recalled it nor that it happened at all. The memory is vivid and real, and he remembers every feeling.

For the rest of the day, Ffrewgí dwells on this memory, begins to wonder how it had only now come to him despite being so vivid and terrific. He is cleaning a chamberpot at the river, his final task of the day, under a deep blue sky, when he is given another shock: on the other side of the narrow river, Alaric. Somehow he feels him before he sees him; he looks up knowing where to look. As much as he had known his memory to have been true, seeing the resurrected captive with his conscious eyes sends a jolt through his gut.

“How long have I been . . . gone?”

The boy’s voice is raw, like he has not spoken for days.

Gone? “I’m not sure,” answers Ffrewgí. “What do you remember?”

“The tent,” says Alaric, then trails off---or the running water drowns out his other words; Ffrewgí cannot be sure. “I woke up in the forest.”

Ffrewgí notices suddenly that Alaric’s face is clear, absent the scar that had cut so dramatically across it before. “How---” he starts. “Do you remember your hunt?”

The boy shakes his head. “What happened?”

Ffrewgí takes a step into the ford, feeling the flow of blood through Alaric’s veins as clearly as he feels the cold water rush around his knees. “You died,” he says, not knowing what else to say.

Alaric does not react to the incredible fact; he raises a hand slowly to his face. He says something that is lost in the water.

Ffrewgí’s heart is tripping over the beats of Alaric’s. “How did we bring you back?”

“I remember your hand,” says Alaric. “You pulled me into my body, knitted my spirit to this shape.”

“Anwen called your spirit,”  Ffrewgí whispers, not knowing precisely what he is saying.

“I remember her voice.”

“She should be finished her tasks,” says Ffrewgí. “I think she might stay in my tent again tonight.” Alaric regards him with eyes glittering like emeralds in the final light of day. “I’ll be some time yet.”

Alaric nods, enters the river. Electricity crackles over Ffrewgí’s body as the boy passes him; quickly, Alaric disappears into the gloom of the forest behind.

A slight, second heartbeat remains beneath the hammering of Ffrewgí’s own, and somehow Ffrewgí knows of the presence of a salmon fry a few paces downstream.

After finishing his task, he returns to his tent, where he finds Anwen.

“Did you talk to him?”

Anwen nods.

Ffrewgí scratches the back of his neck and finds a comfortable position to lie in---something impossible without severe acclimatization to this tiny tent. “Me too,” he says. After a silence, “It’s weird, right? Like, he should be . . .” He trails off. “But it feels proper; it all makes sense somehow.”

“Yes,” agrees Anwen. “Somehow, it does. It was all so,” her eyes glitter in the darkness, “beautiful.”

Ffrewgí regards her softly. “Is he gone?”

Anwen nods and the lights in her eyes multiply, then vanish as her eyes close.

Ffrewgí turns away, his throat tight, and his myriad thoughts flow into dreams.

[hebosaurus]

Tips For Growing Plants The Organic Way

Many individuals discover internal peace by using up the hobby of gardening. Garden enthusiasts normally seek solution to inquiries entailing topics such as soil types, required devices, as well as various expanding periods. The pointers you will certainly discover below will certainly guide you with those inquiries as well as more.Sod ought to be laid correctly. Obtain your soil all set before you lay the turf. Draw any type of weeds and break up any clods of soil. Press the dirt lightly yet firmly, and make certain it's level. Make certain the dirt is extensively moist. Turf needs to be surprised in rows, the joints balancing out from each other. Condense the sod down so you develop a flat and even surface area, then fill out any gaps within the turf by utilizing some dirt. Maintain the sod wet and avoid strolling on it till it is well-rooted, generally a couple of weeks.When winter comes, you can save a few plants by transferring them inside your house.

You must most likely save one of the most resistant or costly plants. Very carefully avoid the origins while digging, as well as place your plant right into a completely sized pot.Take all of the remove of your landscape design! Weeds can be extremely harmful to your garden. White vinegar has been known to eliminate weeds rapidly. Use it as opposed to chemical options to eliminate weeds. Place some white vinegar in a spray bottle, and spray straight on weeds. If you don't wish to pull remove by hand any doctorgardening.com/best-lawn-mower/ longer, give vinegar a try.Plan your garden before you grow it. It will be a while prior to things begin to sprout and also visually remind you of exactly what was planted where, so a created document can be valuable. You could additionally stay clear of shedding the smaller sized plants, or in bigger gardens, the small plant groups.A set of knee pads are a life saver if you're an enthusiastic garden enthusiast and also a great deal of your plants sit close to the ground. If you spend a huge part of your cultivation session on your knees, it might develop discomfort gradually. A pair of good horticulture knee pads can cushion your knees for more comfort.Learn the very best harvest time for every vegetable. For the maximum flavor, be certain to comply with the guidelines for growing as well as selecting. Some veggies, such as zucchini as well as baby peas, should be harvested when they are fairly young. At the opposite end of the range, tomatoes are at their ideal when fully grown. So, see to it you do some research study, as well as figure out when the very best time to collect your veggies is.If you're expanding interior natural plants, you must ensure that you think of what does it cost? light is offered for them. If you're residing in a residence that does not obtain much sunlight, you need to take into consideration expanding plants that prosper in atmospheres with low to medium amounts of light. If you do as well as this does not assist, take into consideration spending in some grow-lights. Preparing a story for planting a perennial yard can be done swiftly and also easily. With a yard spade, piece under the dirt then flip it over. Next, spread out wood chips several inches deep. Enable a couple of weeks to pass by before you dig down right into the applied soil.Pine can be a remarkable compost. Some plants have a normally high acidic level, as well as for that reason like acidic soil. Plants like these flourish when you utilize yearn needles as mulch. Utilizing several inches of needles to cover your beds provides acid for the soil as they start to decompose.Don't allowed all the little tasks in your natural garden accumulate. Not everybody has time to tend their yards daily, however by doing little points whenever you have a possibility, you can avoid having points accumulate. For instance, if you are playing in the yard with your kid, take a couple of minutes to draw some weeds as well.When the time has pertained to gather up the fruit and vegetables, you require to use an old clothes hamper. The washing basket is a perfect filter for any kind of fruit and vegetables run. When you put your fruit and vegetables in a basket, you could then wash it off as well as let it stress any excess water via the clothes hamper holes.The garden compost pile must consist of equivalent components of dried out product and environment-friendly plant material. Instances of excellent environment-friendly product to use for garden compost consist of lawn cuttings, flowers, leaves, and weeds. Dried products are points like hay, timber shavings, cardboard and also paper. Your compost heap should never contain meat, ashes or charcoal.This post has actually given info needed to begin the satisfying activity of cultivation as well as to do it successfully. Yet, if you have the understanding as well as apply it to the most effective of your ability, then your yard should flower and also flourish before you recognize it. By following these basic tips, you will certainly be prepared as well as able to enjoy the satisfaction of creating a beautiful yard that will certainly fit your needs as well as desires.