8 hours ago
fa’liya arrives days after the rest. the ghost-talker had followed them at the pace her chest permits, and by the time she crests the final rise, evening has begun to gather in the hollows.
fa’liya stood at the last slope with her legs locked beneath her. the destination below was not so different from the places she had crossed to reach it, and yet by far it is the most beautiful—late summer had thickened the grasses until they folded over one another in green-gold waves. water caught the declining light and broke it into pink and yellow plates.
she had imagined reaching this place many times during the slow crawl southward. in those imaginings, there had been relief. perhaps even triumph. instead, she feels only the burning of her breath. the climb had set her heart against her ribs in a disordered rhythm, too fast and yet faltering, but rest would have to wait. the faint murmur of the pack drifted upward—the sound tugged at her, something deeper than thought.
she need only go to them for a moment. the fact is the only reason she swallows against the dryness in her throat and forces her legs to move.
the slope was gentle, but it felt steep beneath her weight. each movement sent a dull ache through her ribs, a reminder of the long road behind her, soon to be traversed again. still, she descended, drawn by the scent of them. as she neared the bottom, shapes began to separate from the grasses. figures turned. a few heads lifted, ears pricking toward her. recognition moved through them slowly, like wind through tall stems.
she kept walking until the distance between her and the pack began, at last, to close.
fa’liya stood at the last slope with her legs locked beneath her. the destination below was not so different from the places she had crossed to reach it, and yet by far it is the most beautiful—late summer had thickened the grasses until they folded over one another in green-gold waves. water caught the declining light and broke it into pink and yellow plates.
she had imagined reaching this place many times during the slow crawl southward. in those imaginings, there had been relief. perhaps even triumph. instead, she feels only the burning of her breath. the climb had set her heart against her ribs in a disordered rhythm, too fast and yet faltering, but rest would have to wait. the faint murmur of the pack drifted upward—the sound tugged at her, something deeper than thought.
she need only go to them for a moment. the fact is the only reason she swallows against the dryness in her throat and forces her legs to move.
the slope was gentle, but it felt steep beneath her weight. each movement sent a dull ache through her ribs, a reminder of the long road behind her, soon to be traversed again. still, she descended, drawn by the scent of them. as she neared the bottom, shapes began to separate from the grasses. figures turned. a few heads lifted, ears pricking toward her. recognition moved through them slowly, like wind through tall stems.
she kept walking until the distance between her and the pack began, at last, to close.
super late thread for all the puppies! dated back to the 19th.